


Fresh Blood

by nightwing1511



Series: Gotham Knights [1]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Oracle (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Multi, Novella, Reboot, Universe Alterations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwing1511/pseuds/nightwing1511
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Batman falls further and further from the light, a new hero steps up to fight for Gotham's future. Meanwhile, a wandering son returns home, eager to help return peace and safety to the city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Straighten Up

**Author's Note:**

> So this one started as a few short stories, and blew out into a novel. Its my first real foray into putting work out to the public, so please be as honest and helpful as you can in the comments. Honestly, I know some of it still needs work, I think this is v6.7.
> 
> Essentially a reboot AU where I'm fixing up all the timeline, character and storyline issues and inconsistencies inherent in many decades of comics.
> 
> I picked this as a starting point as I think it works well as a fresh start for the Bat Family.

# 

**'Straighten up.** Keep off my radar. That shouldn't be too hard, right, Tim?'

 

'Of course, sir.'

 

Principal Pollack leant forward in his seat, resting his folded arms on the desk. The room was too clean. Sterile. The diplomas and awards on the wall behind him were evenly spaced in matching chrome frames, but everything else looked like it had come from a government surplus store.

 

'Then I think we're done. If you don't mind, Tim, I have some paperwork to go over with your parents.'

 

Tim ran his hand back through his short black hair and made his way out of the office. He closed the door and leant against it.

 

'Mr Drake was it? Someone from the student rep committee will be here soon to show you around.' Curiously, the secretary spoke without looking up or even slowing down her keystrokes. That was impressive.

 

'He's a good kid. He's just... distracted.' His father's voice was muffled through the door, but discernible.

 

'I understand, Jack. Young men sometimes have trouble focusing, or prioritising. But honestly, Tim is going to be on thin ice here. Given his record, if he doesn't pull himself together-'

 

'Hi, I'm Stephanie.' He'd missed her approach, but there was no missing her now. The smiling face, framed by bright blonde hair, was perhaps a little too close to his own for Tim's liking. Her eyes were a similar shade of green to his.

 

_Weird._

 

'Welcome to Burnley High! They've asked me to show you around.’ Her voice was perky and loud. Like a hamster on coffee.

 

He followed her, not really paying attention as she vomited information about the debate team and the volleyball squad. She was tall, for a girl. She must have just come from Gym; she was wearing a short, pleated, maroon skirt and white polo shirt, rather than the school’s hideous lemon yellow shirt and maroon tie. Her hair looked somehow nicer than normal hair. Puffier, or something. Tim shook his head, and wondered how much longer it would be until they reached the classroom.

 

The tour was pointless. There was a map in the student diary they’d mailed out, and his near-eidetic memory recalled it in perfect detail.

 

She’d stopped walking, and was staring at him, as if expecting an answer.

 

_Damn, forgot to listen._

‘Sorry, didn’t catch that last bit.’

 

‘I said, don’t you think it’s important to make friends?’

 

‘Oh, yeah. Friends.’ He took a breath, and coughed loudly. ‘Look Stephanie, I appreciate you showing me around like this, but I think I’ve got it from here.’

 

‘No, that’s ok. I’m in your class, so we’re heading in the same way anyway.’ Her hair seemed to shine more when she smiled.

 

  _Magic hair? Get a hold of yourself, Drake._

 

‘Ok. Thanks, I guess.’

 

******

 

The day dragged on, and Tim waited impatiently for the final bell. Stephanie had made it her mission to make sure he made it safely to each class. He spent the final period staring at the clock while his math teacher lectured on some principle that nobody was listening to. The bell went, and the classroom emptied. Tim followed the crowd outside, where a line of school-busses began to fill.

 

Tim walked away from the busses, around the corner. A black Chrysler sedan was waiting for him, and a stranger sat at the wheel. The man had short dark hair, dark sunglasses, and wore a black suit. One of his Mother’s assistants, Tim guessed.

 

_Great. It looks like I’m being driven home by the secret service._

‘Your mom asked me to take you home today, kiddo.’

 

He dropped into the back seat and silently pondered his parents’ absence as his mother’s crony drove to their house on the outskirts of town.

 

The Drake Estate was a two storey family home nestled among the mansions and three-car-garage mini-mansions on the mainland side of the Gotham River. Bristol, the swanky, low density residential area was home to old-money millionaires, captains of industry, and high-end public servants with no time to spend their money on anything but extravagant houses and expensive cars. Overlooking the ocean, and covering almost as much ground as the rest of the properties together, Wayne Manor rested majestically at the top of the hill.

 

The Drakes had moved there from Metropolis after Jack, Tim’s father, inherited the house from his father. The house had been old when they first moved in; Tim remembered the squeaky floorboards and boarded windows. On his visits home he saw the house slowly renovated. Tim had gone to school at the prestigious Brentwood Academy, a private boarding school in Burnside, the growing suburb just west of the Gotham River. He lived in the dorms during the week, but went home on weekends. Each week he saw a new room of the mansion stripped out and rebuilt.

 

The lavish home was uncommonly quiet as Tim entered the foyer and dropped his school bag by the door to his study. He followed his stomach to the kitchen, and made a quick sandwich. As he chewed into the piece of turkey wrapped in wholegrain bread, he spotted a scrawled note on the table.

 

“Tim,

Going out of town for a few days.

Will call soon.

Love you,

Mom and Dad.”

 

Tim’s frowned as he read the message. It was definitely his mother’s handwriting, but it wasn’t her voice in the note. Something was off.

 

******

 

His gut instinct was right. Tim’s parents never came home. A few weeks into their absence, about the time he was starting to worry, a package appeared at his front door. It was too early in the morning for the post, and it was unmarked, which meant hand delivered. He tore open the satchel, discovering a DVD inside. It was also unmarked, save for a small post-it note stuck to one face.

 

“Play me.”

 

He sat in front of his computer quietly after the message had ended. He stared into the blank screen for so long he lost track of time. When he shook himself into movement, it was late afternoon. He wiped tears from his face and went to the kitchen. He took the note, still sitting on the counter-top, and pinned it to the crowded corkboard in his study. He needed help. Tim needed to find Him soon.

 

******

 

The light was bright in his face. A drip of drool from his chin dribbled onto his chest. Around him, his classmates were all staring.

 

‘You’ve decided to join us, Mr Drake?’

 

‘Uh, I was um… just resting my eyes?’

 

‘And snoring.’

 

The classroom laughed. Tim yawned.

 

‘Now that your eyes are rested, perhaps you can tell us all about Kepler’s laws of planetary motion. You obviously know all about them, given that you’ve clearly got better things to do than listen to me.’

 

She looked pointedly at his notebook, and the squiggled drawings of circus acrobats with capes.

 

‘Sorry, Miss Bertinelli, I had a paper due first period this morning. I didn’t sleep much.’

 

The tall, slender lady in front of him stepped back.

 

‘Now remember to read chapter 12, thanks folks. I’ll see you all tomorrow. Class dismissed. Tim, a word?’

 

_Great._

The classroom emptied quickly. Tim kept his seat. When the classroom was empty, she perched herself on the desk in front of him. She was young, for a teacher. Probably her first gig out of college. And from the look of her outfit, he guessed it wasn’t her only job. She was probably moonlighting as a bartender in the city. There was no way she could afford designer shoes of that quality on a teacher’s salary.

 

‘Tim, I don’t know what to do. I mean, you’ve only been here, what, two weeks, but you’re late to every class, when you show up at all. And then you sleep through the lecture anyway. I don’t know how they ran classes at Brentwood, but here we like you to be at least conscious.’

 

‘I already said, Miss, I had a late night.’

 

‘Yes, but it seems like you’re having a lot of those. Is everything alright at home?’

 

Tim stood up.

 

‘The orbit of every planet is an ellipse with the Sun at one of the two foci.

A line joining a planet and the Sun sweeps out equal areas during equal intervals of time.’ He smirked, grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

 

‘Tim that’s not th-’

 

He let the door snap shut behind him. He slipped on his silver, mirrored sunglasses as he shouldered his backpack. He didn’t have time for her amateur psychology. She couldn’t help. Nobody here could.

 

The afternoon was hot and humid, and Tim could feel the afternoon storm coming, even from inside the halls of Burnley High School. The bell rang, and the halls filled with babbling and shoving. Tim made a quick beeline for the nearest door. The summer sun was harsh, and the thick, black clouds were working their way slowly across the sky. He waved down a cab and scooted into the back seat.

 

‘Tim!’ The call came just before he closed the door. A scrawny redhead, was skittering across the carpark towards him. Ives had been Tim’s friend since the boys had been in elementary school.

 

‘Heading home Tim? Wanna split the cab?’

 

‘Sorry Ives, gotta meet Dad in the city. Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow?’

  
‘A’ight Timbo. Don’t forget we’ve got that history quiz second period tomorrow.’

 

‘Yeah, thanks. Catch ya!’

 

He pulled the door shut. When Tim had been at Brentwood, Ives had been a near perfect student. But without Tim, it seemed his focus had shifted. He never talked about what, but something had happened, and Ives had been kicked out of the illustrious school. Tim never asked too many questions; he was glad to see a friendly face at Burnley High.

 

‘So, the City?’ The cabby asked.

 

Tim shook his head.

 

‘Drake Estate, Bristol.’

 

The cabby thought about it for a second, but nodded as he pulled out. Tim pulled his cellphone from his pocket, and flicked through news articles as the cab wove through Gotham.

 

******

 

‘Just drop me at the gate, buddy. No need to drive up to the house.’

  
The cab pulled to a stop on the white gravel. Tim paid the driver and pulled himself out of the car. The rain started to spit as he made his way up the drive. He ducked into the foyer just as the downpour struck. The door wasn’t locked. It never was anymore. Tim dropped his bag as he walked into his study. He pulled up the chair to his computer and slumped himself into it. There were no new videos or news on the sites he frequented. Nothing on the news, and no new police reports. He lent back in his chair and stared up at the mess of photos, news clippings and scribbles on paper pinned to a corkboard.

 

“Bat Watch”, they called themselves. A group of anonymous internet users who made it their hobby to follow The Batman, and post poor quality videos, blurry photos, and wild speculation at every opportunity. Tim had contributed a few photos, but nothing good. He kept the best ones for his own files.

 

Gotham was full of skeptics, and despite a handful of confirmed sightings, some photos, and even police reports, most didn’t buy into the stories about a caped vigilante who prowls the rooftops, protecting citizens from muggers and murderers. Tim had seen him in action, though. Batman, who most stories painted as an 8 foot tall, monster with wings and fangs, was merely a man in a mask and cape. A small number made it their mission to discover Batman’s identity. Tim, however, knew that The Batman had three allies. Until last year, anyway. Two had been killed in the gang war that had nearly consumed the city last year. Tim knew that if he was to discover The Batman’s secret, finding out who was on his team was just as important.

 

One of them was definitely a woman and the other two were much younger, school age evn. He had scoured every image, every video, and spied on way too many police radio conversations.

 

The first partner had worn a red tunic, green armour, with a yellow cape. Not exactly urban camouflage. Some eyewitnesses had heard The Bat call him “Robin”, and the way he moved it was no surprise. He must have had some pretty amazing training to fly the way he did. Probably a gymnast.

 

Later, the woman had made appearances, her colour palate was set in blues and purple, distinguishing her from The Batman’s black. She was slender, too, and tall. She moved like a gymnast too, and a good one at that. Tim had played with some pretty serious sound editing software to clean up a recording, and heard Robin referred to her as “Batgirl”.

 

Two years ago, Robin had started wearing black and blue. He started going by “Nightwing” and stopped working with Batman. But then Batman took a new sidekick, but this Robin wore darker green, and a black cape. He was a lot more aggressive than the others, and less acrobatic. He hadn’t lasted long.

 

After the Joker went to war with the GCPD, Batgirl and Robin had disappeared. At first Tim had thought they had just been less conspicuous, but after over six months, he was starting to have his doubts. Combined with Nightwing relocating to Blüdhaven, and Batman becoming more violent and uncontrolled, he was almost certain that the junior vigilantes had been killed.

 

Tim stood up from his desk, and sat on the floor. He watched the news on the TV across the room as he did crunches, then push ups. He was an accomplished hacker and a skilled programmer, had studied taekwondo, jujitsu and hapkido and taught himself to throw shurikens with brutal efficiency. When he should have been doing homework for school, he had instead studied forensic principles, chemical and fingerprint analysis and ballistics. Once he cracked the Batman’s identity, he would join his crusade. A new team was what he needed. Without his partners, Batman had started taking more risks, and seemed to be pushing himself that much harder. Before the Joker, Batman had been untouchable. Lately he was taking a beating each night, whilst dealing out his own beatings to any criminals or gangs he encountered. He was burning himself out.

 

The news blathered on about things Tim couldn’t pay attention to. He finished his workout, and sat back at his desk. A notification was waiting, one of his Bat Watch forums.

 

“ _New Video – Batman in Blüdhaven_ ”

 

_Idiots. Clearly not Batman, there’s no cape._ He watched as a shadowy figure engaged a trio in an alley. The footage was shot from a cell, so the quality was appalling.

 

Tim clicked reply.

 

 “ _It’s not Batman. Batman wears a cape._ ”

 

His mouse hovered over the post button as he watched the video again. Nightwing dodged the gunfire of one bad guy with a cartwheel, and disabled another with a kick. He sprung off a derelict car and caught the fire escape above him. He swung back, and flung himself into the air, pulling a perfect triple tuck, finishing with a kick square to the final gunman’s chest. He fired some sort of grappling hook into the air, and was gone. The whole video was only 23 seconds long, but it was enough.

 

Tim held the backspace key, deleting his message.

 

He didn’t need to post anything. He’d solved it.

 

He knew who Batman was.


	2. Barbara Gordon

**Barbara Gordon tapped the keyboard.** Four huge screens in front of her jumped to life, bathing her in white light. Around her the deep expanse of the cave loomed. She nudged her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. Across the monitors, information danced; news reports, police calls, even weather reports. An even larger screen to her left blinked to life, displaying a number of case files marked 'pending'. Everything they might need.

 

‘Oh, Alfred. I love what you’ve done with the place.’ Barbara sighed contentedly as she wheeled around to face him. The old man smiled. He certainly looked his age tonight, his pencil moustache and thinning hair amplified by the sunken bags under his eyes. He looked tired.  
  
‘It’s about time really. I was starting to wonder if I'd ever have dry feet again. Master Bruce hasn't said much, but I suspect he likes he walkways too.’

 

Bruce never said much anymore. Not since Jason. And not since...

 

He'd told her it would be too dangerous, but she'd survived the warehouses with only a few cuts and bruises. It was her home where the danger really lurked...

 

Barbara shook the memory away. That was her old life. She was starting new. New house. New job. And yet she was back in the cave.

 

She navigated her wheelchair away from the computer bank, and steadily made her way across the path to the armoury. Once a series of concrete paths and stairs decades old and prone to flooding, Alfred had rebuilt the walkways in raised steel, complete with safety rails, lights and ramps instead of stairs. Some things remained the same. Bruce's mismatched collection of trophies and mementos were still scattered about; the glass case memorialising Dick’s and Jason's sets of armour stood proudly in the darkness.

 

The computer bank was new, replacing the single machine that resided there six months ago. The pin boards, blackboards and desks covered with file after file were gone, replaced with magnetic whiteboards, and a huge server rack crammed full of drives. The centre of the cave finally looked like the lair of a tech-genius vigilante. It had spent a decade too long looking like the base of operations from a 1970's cop show.

 

Three paths jutted out from the central platform. The shortest, jutting across a chasm to the right, opened up to the armory. An armour rack held sets of armour that once belonged to Dick, red breasted with a proud 'R'. Barbara's own sets of armour, blues, greys and purples, emblazoned with golden bat silhouettes, hung next to Bruce's battle gear. This platform was the largest in the cave, and also shot off into a small, well equipped med bay, a target range, gym, and sparring dojo.

 

Another catwalk snaked down, underneath the computer. This space was filled with workbenches and tools, prototypes of new gadgets hung from the walls and filled the shelves. A single touch screen was suspended above the centre bench, currently showing a section of blueprint, left over from the last time it had been used. A walkway spurred away to an elevator, leading to the mansion above.

 

A set of stairs led down from the computer bank to the staging area for the Batman’s primary mode of transport. “The Car” more closely resembled a tank. Built from scratch, the chassis had originally resembled an SUV, but between them Bruce and Alfred had put in over two hundred hours of mods and upgrades. The leviathan housed a rocket thruster in the rear end, and was swamped in so much armour it looked like something off the sci-fi channel.

 

A stretch of tarmac reached out towards one opening of the cave, disappearing through the waterfall that concealed the mouth. The Car wasn't on the turntable now, it almost never was lately. Bruce spent every hour between sundown and sunrise hunting. In the old days, they'd called it “patrolling”, but since Jason's death The Batman wasn't keeping protective watch over the innocent of Gotham. He was hunting the scum and villainy and punishing them with extreme prejudice.

 

She and Bruce had developed so many of their tools and gadgets together. They'd been a family once. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred had been as close to her as her parents.  Very few people knew about the activities of "The Batman" and his team. Nearly half of them were in the cave at that moment.

 

Her father, heading the GCPD organized crime task force, had some idea. He didn't know that she was involved, though. He'd never let her out after dark again if he had known.

 

Dick knew who they were, but he'd been part of it for longer than she had. Robin. Barbara stared towards the glass display where Dick's old armour hung, a tribute to the son who left the nest. Bruce hated it being there, but Barbara knew he'd never convince Alfred to take it down. Next to it was another memorial set of armour, torn and broken, resting above a podium that simply read "A Good Soldier".

 

But like her real family, everything had fallen apart. Her father's affair with another police detective had driven her mother and brother away, back to Chicago. Barbara had said she'd stayed because of school, but the truth was she had been closer to Jim. And besides, he needed her. His long, irregular shifts as a homicide detective meant without her to look after him, he'd probably live on bran flakes and two minute noodles.

 

When Bruce and Dick had their final argument, she’d once again stayed where she was most needed. Bruce, she'd reasoned, required allies to aide in his crusade. What Dick needed was time alone. He’d told her so and yet still took offence to her staying with Bruce. If he was the sort of person who talked about his feelings, maybe things would have been different.

 

Barbara wheeled around to face Alfred once more. He was busying himself adjusting the trigger pressure on one of the grapples. He really was a jack of all trades. In addition to being Bruce’s valet, and valet to Dr Thomas Wayne before him, Alfred was a fantastic cook and an accomplished engineer. An ex-army doctor, he also doubled as The Batman’s medic, and in the old days, coordinated the team from the cave.

 

‘Thanks again for breakfast. It's good to be back.’

 

‘You're very welcome,’ he replied, remaining as British as possible through the warm, heartfelt smile, ‘Shall I walk you out? Your taxi should be arriving soon.’

 

‘It's alright, Alfred, you're busy. I'll see you tonight.’ With a wave, she turned and headed to the lift.

 

Emerging from behind the clock in Bruce's study, Barbara blinked at the morning light flooding in. It was a crisp summer morning, and the day ahead looked promising. She navigated the halls of the sprawling mansion, making her way through the front door as the cab Alfred had summoned pulled up in the drive.

 

******

 

The city of Gotham was built across a collection islands. The south-most, Burnley, was the site of a huge residential development; apartment buildings were slowly expanding to cover the island. These were, for the most part, built right over the top of the old commercial buildings that made up the site of the original city. The north-east shore of the island was dotted with docks and warehouses.

 

New Gotham stood across the bridge to the northern islands. The New Gotham CBD was an odd mixture of old and new, and was seemingly under constant redevelopment. The cityscape ranged from small office blocks to large skyscrapers in the centre of town and was essentially one huge construction site. Huge skyscrapers at varying stages of completion peppered the skyline. At the very centre, Wayne Tower stood as a monument to the family that had saved the city in the Great Depression. The three main islands were close to equal size. Kane Island, named for another prominent family in the city’s history, was largely commercial, but was home to the city’s densely populated China Town district. Founders island had a more industrial feel, and the majority of the city’s northern dock land districts were built around the coast. Miagani Island, named after an indigenous tribe from the area, was full of huge apartment buildings, as well as Robinson Park, a huge green beacon in the heart of the concrete jungle.

 

South of Burnley, Old Gotham, was built on the mainland, and was the home to huge corporate headquarters, overpriced hotels and busy shopping malls. Called Old Gotham, this part of the city was newer than Burnley, but pre-dated the city’s sprawl to the New Gotham islands.

 

Gotham University, nestled near the centre of Miagani Island, was one of the city's oldest buildings. Built in the early twenties, it had survived the numerous fires, floods and other disasters that seemed to plague the ever changing metropolis. Across the street from Gotham's Robinson Park, the University was in truth made up of four buildings of varied ages, with a small park in the middle, but the main building was the one people paid attention to.  


Barbara stared out the window of the third floor lecture hall, as her students drizzled out. History of Literature mustn’t have been a favourite topic; they looked like zombies. As one last young woman brushed through the door, Barbara let out a sigh. She gathered up her things, and was midway through the game of Tetris that was her handbag when a woman in a fancy suit appeared in the doorway. Laurel Lance was tall and lean, with her long blonde hair pulled back in a tight no-nonsense ponytail, and a takeaway coffee in each hand.

 

‘You look like you need this.’ She grinned, handing Barbara the steaming travel cup.

 

‘I’ll bet.’ She sipped the coffee and smiled.

 

‘We still on for lunch, hon?’

 

‘I’m starving. Where should we eat?’

 

******

 

The afternoon sun cast beautiful shadows across the city’s gothic skyline. Barbara sipped her latte and smiled. Lunch had been a hit, and had turned into lunch and gelato. It was now at lunch and gelato and coffee.

 

Laurel had made returning to the real world that much smoother. They’d had fairly regular lunch dates in the weeks since. She’d been thankful for her; it was nice to have a friend near her own age. Her high school life had been very disjointed. Graduating at 15 hadn’t left much time for friends. In the old days, she’d had Dick. But these days, she wasn’t even sure he’d answer if she called him.

 

A harsh tone exploded from Laurel’s cellphone and she stood up and slipping it into her jacket pocket. ‘Sorry Babs, I gotta dash. Got a thing. Where did the afternoon go?’

 

 ‘Yes, go. Save the city, big shot lawyer. I’ll call you, later.’ She leant back in her chair and soaked in the delicious sunlight, before taking a resentful glance at her watch. It was almost time for her to get to her next class. She only had one more to get through for the day. She drained what was left of her coffee, picked up her bag and headed back to work.

 

******

 

Barbara wheeled slowly into the lift and pushed the button for the 14th floor. After the accident Bruce had offered that she come to live at the mansion, but living all the way out of the city would have been near impossible for her.

 

She and her dad been touch and go after the shooting. Her dad got lucky; the bullets managed to miss everything important. She hadn’t been so fortunate. A slug had damaged her spine, totally paralysing her from the waist down. When she’d been released from the hospital, and resolved to move into a place of her own, Bruce had helped set her up with a modest apartment near the centre of town. Jim had hated the idea, and argued long and hard that she should stay where he could look after her. She loved him, but in that moment, she’d wanted to slap him. She’d faced off against some of the most notorious criminals Gotham had ever seen, and he wanted to look after her?

 

The old clock tower had been a feature of Kane Island since the city’s boom in the 50’s. Once housing only maintenance access for the huge clock on the top of the building, her loft was everything she needed.  She had a modest bedroom, and a nice living area lined with bookshelves and a small kitchen. Within convenient proximity to everything she could need, Barbara would have been hard up finding a better place in the city.

 

She rolled into the kitchen and fixed a cup of tea and settled herself on the couch. It’d been a long day, but it was good to be back to a normal life. Well, mostly normal.

 

As the evening stretched on, and the cheesy soaps gave way for gritty detective shows, Barbara yawned and dropped her mug in the sink. She pulled on a jacket, and turned out the lights. The glass face of the giant clock let in the moonlight, casting eerie shadows across her home.

 

She set herself in the centre of the room, cleared her throat and then spoke softly, but deliberately.

 

‘Clock Tower. Authorize, Oracle.’

 

She looked around as giant shutters slid closed over the clock face. Lights popped to life, and her bookshelves slowly ascended, revealing a computer bank identical to the one in the Cave hummed to life.  Almost identical; this one had an espresso machine set next to the left hand monitor.

 

_Alfred always remembers the important things._

Near the centre of the room, a series of screens set into a tabletop glowed patiently. Another bookshelf slid away to reveal an armoury off beyond to the left. To the right, a similar door opened into a gym.

 

_A home away from home?_

 

She took her spot in front of the computer bank, set the waiting headset to her ear, and took a deep breath.

 

‘Welcome, Oracle.’ The computer chimed in haunting, computerised tones adapted from Barbara’s own voice.

 

A myriad of files and windows splayed across the screens.

 

‘Good to have you back.’ A gravelled voice whispered across the speaker. ‘And just in time. I need you to run a search on a Lester Petrovic, and all known associates. And fast, he’s a person of interest in a murder investigation.’

 

‘Good to be back, boss. Database is searching.’ Her fingers danced across the keys, and the search pinged. ‘You’re in luck. Petrovic was ticketed this evening for running a light. He’s in Burnley. File says he’s a regular at My Alibi.’

  
‘I hate that bar. I’ll head over now. Keep poring over those files. Cave, are you on channel?’

 

‘Sir?’ The old butler’s voice was rather alert for this late in the evening.

 

_Does he ever sleep?_

 

‘I want you to look into the victim, Miguel Pérez. When I’m finished with Petrovic, I’m going to need to know them better than family.’ He was breathing heavily. Already on the move.

 

‘Quite so, sir.’

 

‘Gotcha, boss.’ She went to work.


	3. Dick Grayson

**‘Grayson and Flores, cover the south door!’**

 

‘Yessir!’

 

The two officers broke off from the rest of the group, jogging down the alley to the left. As they approached, Dick slowed and bought his sidearm up, trained on the door. His partner, Detective Catalina Flores, ducked forward quickly and pressed herself against the wall of the small, three story apartment building. She tested the door with her left hand. It was locked. Dick reached for his two-way radio.

 

‘Back door is secure. We’re going in.’

 

‘Negative, Grayson. Hold there for now.’

 

Dick stepped behind a dumpster for cover, keeping his SIG Sauer 9mm pistol aimed squarely at the door. The pair stood poised; Dick caught his breath, and waited.

  
Cat was on the small side, as police officers went. She almost disappeared entirely when she put on her kevlar vest. Her expression made up for it, though. She almost always looked like she was ready to kill a man. Nobody gave her trouble, even in the rough neighbourhoods.

 

Mealtide Park was one of _those_ areas. The suburb had sprawled too quickly for proper infrastructure to keep up. Boarded up windows and condemned buildings were a common sight. Too many people, not enough police. This building was old. Probably just barely up to code. The majority of the neighbourhood seemed on the verge of falling down.

 

After an eternity, their two-ways crackled to life.

 

‘Grayson, Flores. Second floor. Apartment two seventeen.’

 

Dick moved quickly, and nodded once. Cat stepped away from the wall, training her Glock 19 on the door. Dick let go with a solid kick, and the door flew open. He took a deep breath and stepped into the building.

 

The floorboards creaked with each step. Cat followed close behind him. He found the stairs and headed up. He paused at the top of the landing, and waited for her to catch up. They stood for a second, back to back.

 

‘This way.’ She took the lead and headed down the hall. Moving smoothly, she slowed slightly at each door before moving to the next.

 

‘Found it.’ She hissed. ‘Two seventeen.’

 

She flattened against the wall and looked to the right, towards the slightly ajar door. He nodded, and pushed through, into the apartment.

 

“Blüdhaven Police, get on the grou-”

 

Two police detectives stood in the room with a handful of uniformed officers. Three perps, already handcuffed, knelt by the window.

_Late to the party again._

 

******

 

‘Coffee?’

 

‘Yeah, I think I’ll need it. Thanks, Dick.’

 

Dick stepped away from his desk and stretched his arms above his head. He stifled a yawn, and headed to the break room. The Blüdhaven Police Headquarters, where he was stationed, was almost as old as the rest of the city, and from the inside, you could tell. The light fixtures hung lazily from the high, cracked ceiling, and the windows were barred. The detective’s bullpen was huge and cold, the break room a stark contrast. It was a small, warm room with a kitchenette and a handful of comfortable couches.

 

While the machine poured steaming, dark liquid into a cup, he mentally recapped the night’s work. The tip had been legit, and the bust had handed them three dealers of a new amphetamine compound that had been responsible for over a dozen OD fatalities in the last month. Unfortunately, a fourth man had got away. The three they caught rolled over, and identified the fourth as their ringleader. There was an all-points bulletin out on Franky Santorum, the missing ringleader.

 

Dick’s role, however, had been almost non-existent. As Nightwing, he could have made that bust alone, but his Captain didn’t have quite that much faith in him. Yet somehow, he still ended up with a mountain of paperwork. The perks of being the new guy.

 

‘So where was your friend, today?’ Dick set one of the mugs next to Cat’s mousepad. ‘What do you call him? “Batwing”?”’

 

‘Oh har har. You’re gonna make fun of me for that?’ She swivelled in her chair to face him. ‘I don’t care if nobody else believes me, but “ _Nightwing_ ” saved my life.’

 

Dick tried his hardest to put on a skeptical face. But he knew she was right. One of his first nights in Blüdhaven, he’d found Officer Flores in a dark alley, surrounded by goons. He was still new to working alone, so he might have been a bit dramatic. It was the strangest luck that, on making detective, they’d ended up partners.

 

‘I’m not saying I don’t believe you, I’m just asking where this guy is when we’re doing actual police work? What, has he got a day job?’

 

‘Maybe he was off saving someone else’s bacon. All I know is, I'm glad they're out there. Regardless of whether people believe in them.'

 

'They?'

 

'The other ones. The capes from Gotham. My cousin says they've got some over in Star City, too.'

 

"Capes" was a funny term, and Dick hadn't heard it before. It was much nicer than the regular names they were called. "Outlaw vigilantes", "costumed idiots", "tight wearing freaks". That in mind, he couldn't get too offended that the title wasn't very inclusive.

 

As Robin he'd worn flashy capes to distract from his lack of physical size. As he'd got older, he'd tried to use them like Bruce had, casting his shadow over a scared enemy, masking his movements to avoid gunfire, and the like. But once he'd struck out on his own, a cape had never felt right. It restricted his acrobatics, felt heavy on his shoulders, and offered something to grab at in a melee. He’d learned that last one the hard way. Nightwing didn’t wear a cape.

 

‘I dunno, you really think there’s more than one guy crazy enough to dress up in tights and fly around fighting muggers?’

 

‘I do, Grayson. And I think we’re very lucky they’re out there.’

 

******

 

The wind in his hair, and the lights sprawled out beneath him. This was where Dick belonged. He stepped off the edge, and felt the euphoria of free-fall as the city rushed up to meet him. He saw his target and fired a grapple high into a nearby building. The claw lodged into the concrete like a harpoon. He braced himself as the line snapped taut, swinging in a huge arc.

 

_Flagpole._

As he flew high into the air, a flick of the trigger on his grapple released the line from the wall. The claw snapped quickly back to the launcher. He tumbled through the air, dropping his grappling-gun to his belt. The magnetic clip snapped the device to his belt, and Dick reached forward with both hands. He grabbed at the flagpole protruding from the side of the building and swung himself up, tucking his legs close to his chest as he summersaulted up the building like a bullet. He landed with perfect form, and spun on the spot.

 

Santorum had been spotted by police in The Narrows. Dick’s own investigation had narrowed down three possible safe houses he could be basing his operation out of. The first two had been a bust, so it had to be this one, right?

 

He barged through the door to the fire stairs, and vaulted the handrails down the two flights of stairs to the ninth floor. He put his foot through the door to the apartment in question, and drew a round, two-bladed throwing shuriken from his belt. The lights were out, and the room was full of shadow. His eyes flicked around, trying to find Santorum.

 

A screaming siren passed on the street, and for a second the room flashed red and blue. The shadows moved, and he saw a figure crouching in the darkened corner.

 

_Gun!_

The man brought up a pistol, but Nightwing was quicker. He let fly with the wing-ding and it struck the gun sharply, the shot struck the ceiling.

 

_Go._

He leapt across the room and delivered a sharp kick to the man’s chest. He fell backwards, collapsing into the corner as the gun skittered across the room. Pressing his knee into the man’s chest, Nightwing raised a fist.

 

‘Santorum?’

 

The man nodded groggily. Dick lashed out with a savage jab, knocking Santorum out cold. With the threat neutralised, Dick turned on the lights. The apartment was an orgy of drug dealing paraphernalia.

 

_Gotcha._

 

****** 

 

Nightwing crouched on the ledge of a building across from Santorum’s safe house. He watched through binoculars as the Police stormed up the stairs in force and kicked down the door into the apartment.

 

‘Lucky we don’t wait for them to do all the work.’ He quipped to himself.

 

They’d found Santorum now, passed out in the shower recess. The spilled shampoo and cracked tile Dick set up seemed to have been enough. They assumed he’d slipped in the shower, and Dick’s anonymous tip-off might well have come from a disgruntled business partner, or customer.

 

He hadn’t needed to set up any other evidence. That was already there, in spades. A do-it-yourself meth lab took up most of the bathroom, and a pill press sat on the kitchen bench next to the toaster. There were briefcases full of money and little bags of white powder strewn around the room. It was as if they weren’t even trying to pretend it wasn’t a drug den. The most interesting thing Dick had found, in his quick assessment of the scene, was a series of letters implicating Anthony Garcia, a hotshot lawyer and aspiring politician in Gotham, as head of the operation. Dick left those letters in the centre of the kitchen table after taking photos for his own files. It wasn’t often he got to have a crack at some big-professional type.

 

Perched above the city, Dick felt alone. In that moment, there was nobody else to celebrate the job well done. Nobody to tease him that she could have done it better. Nobody to blow off steam with in a city wide game of tag.

 

He missed Barbara. In the old days, they’d been inseparable. Batgirl and Robin had worked well together, and they’d had fun doing it. When they were kids, the whole thing had been a game. The criminals had been a workout, and saving the city was all in a day’s work. That had changed with the rise of The Joker. When Bruce forbade them from going after the Clown Prince of Crime, everything got serious. They tried, against Bruce’s orders, to take him on. That was when the trouble started. Dick resented Bruce for coddling the two of them like kids. Batman argued that they were kids, and needed his protection. Dick knew he couldn’t deal with living in Batman’s shadow anymore. So he left. He left the manor, left the city. But Barbara, she stayed. He’d been sure she’d be on his side. After all they’d been through.  All they were to one another.

 

He’d never felt so betrayed.

 

******

 

‘Let it go, Grayson.’

 

‘The evidence is there, sir. Right there!’ He slapped his hand on the photo and the whole desk bounced. ‘Anthony Garcia is in on this. We can take down a man who is _killing_ people! His drugs are causing _deaths_! And we’re meant to ignore it? We’re meant to let his guys go?’

 

Chief Delmore Redhorn stood from his chair, his face redder than a beetroot.

 

‘Grayson, I don’t know who you think you are, but I won’t be yelled at _in my own office!_ ’ The small, tubby man seemed to grow 12 inches taller as he growled. ‘Gimme your badge and gun. 6 weeks suspension. With pay.’

 

Dick threw his SIG and shield on the desk. He turned to leave, but Redhorn wasn’t done.

 

‘Grayson, this is my town. We do things my way. You make any trouble about this, and I’ll bury you. Is that understood?’

 

‘Yes, _sir._ ’ Dick slammed the door on his way out. He knew it was juvenile, but it still made him feel better. The bullpen continued about their work, seemingly oblivious to the spat that had occurred. He snatched up his wallet and coat, and headed for the door.

 

Flores saw him and gave chase, stopping him by the elevator. His blood was still boiling, but it wasn’t her fault. He tried to put on a smile.

 

‘I’m taking some holiday leave. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.’

 

‘You know, partner, you’re a horrible liar. He suspend you?’

 

‘Yeah, I don’t wanna talk about it. We can grab drinks this weekend, maybe.’

 

‘Sounds good, Grayson. I’ll see you later.’

 

He slipped into the elevator and pulled on his coat. The long, tan trench coat looked like something out of a bad detective movie, but it sure was warm. And in Blüdhaven, even the summer days got chilly as the sun went down. As Dick hit the street, and his coat started to pay off, a teenage boy approached, waving at him. He turned and walked the other way. Whatever this kid wanted, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

 

‘Detective Grayson, I need to talk to you!’

 

The kid knew who he was. Maybe it was important? He didn’t look like trouble.

 

‘Please detective, it’s about Nightwing.’

 

_Oh crap._

 

Dick stopped dead.

 

‘My name is Tim Drake, detective. And I know your secret.’


	4. Tim Drake

# 

**Blüdhaven was a cesspit.** And that was being generous. Just standing in the city made Tim feel like he needed a shower. Blüdhaven was Gotham’s cheaper, dirtier cousin. Located 10 miles south of Gotham, it was a port town that had grown too big, and was now dying a slow, cancerous death. Huge industrial centres still thrived, and the population continued to grow against all odds, but the crime rate was stupidly high. The small island district known as “The Narrows” was the home to the biggest narcotics industry this side of Mexico.

 

Tim felt a wave of relief as the young police detective ushered him into the relative safety of the Police Station, and into an empty waiting room. Detective Grayson looked frazzled. He’d clearly never expected to be found out. He shut and locked the door, drew the blinds, and gestured for Tim to sit. The detective took a seat across from Tim and, obviously trying to keep his voice down, began his line of questioning.

 

‘Tell me what it is you think you know.’

 

‘Detective, if I didn’t know something, your response just now would be a bit over the top, don’t you think?’

 

Grayson looked pissed.

 

_Probably not a good idea to mess with him._

 

‘Okay. I know that you are Nightwing. And don’t try to deny it.’ Grayson inhaled like he was about to argue, but paused.

 

‘Tim, was it? What makes you think that I’m Batman?’

 

‘I didn’t say Batman, detective. I said Nightwing. Nice try though.’

 

Detective Grayson smirked.

 

‘I know you’re Nightwing, because nobody else can move like you do. A few nights ago, you were filmed pulling a triple somersault.’

 

Grayson’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated what Tim had said.

 

‘You might recall, in a past life, the triple tuck was part of your signature move. Do you know how many other people in America can make that move? Can you imagine the odds of any of them being in Gotham?’

 

‘So, you’re saying I have to be Nightwing because I used to be one of the world’s premier child acrobats?’ He was trying to make it sound implausible.

 

‘I’m saying you are still one of the world’s premier acrobats.’

 

 Grayson smiled. It was a proud smile.

 

_Got him._

 

‘Alright, Tim. Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say I’m Nightwing. What do you want out of this?’

 

‘I want to be part of it.’ Detective Grayson’s face was a mask of disbelief. Tim assumed he was expecting blackmail, or coercion. He stared for a minute.

 

_That caught him off guard. He’s reeling. Don’t let up._

‘The Batman needs help. And if you’re here, that means you don’t want to be that help. The Batman needs Robin.’

 

‘And you think y-’

 

‘I want to be Robin.’

 

‘I don’t think you know what that means.’ Grayson’s face had dropped. He was suddenly taking this very seriously.

 

_Good._

Tim stood and stepped toward the detective.

 

‘I don’t know? What don’t I know? About the war with the Joker? About the friends you’ve lost? I know what I’m doing. I’ve trained for this.’

 

‘Listen, Tim. I know you mean well, but I need you to forget this. It’s not happening.’ Grayson unlocked the door.

 

‘Nightwing. I’m not going to let this go.’

 

‘Go home, Tim.’

 

He left the room. Tim sat in the dark for a moment. He’d been sure that if he put all his cards on the table like that, Grayson would have no choice.

 

_I can’t go home._

 

******

 

The target was moving.  Tim leapt across the gap and kept running. The man he was tracking stopped in the street. He was talking to someone. But not for long. He headed inside the building.

 

Tim took some binoculars from his pocket and focused on the foyer. Grayson was in the elevator. The lift travelled to the thirteenth floor. He shifted the binoculars up thirteen floors, and waited a second. A light appeared in a window, and the detective appeared as a silhouette.

 

He took a grappling hook from his satchel and looped the line in a pile by his feet. He took the grappling hook and played out a foot of line while he scanned for the right target. He twirled the hook in two quick arcs and let it fly.

 

The grapple soared through the air in a lazy arc. It landed right on target, grabbing tightly to the support frame of a water tower above the building. Tim pulled the line taut and stepped off the edge. He sailed above the streets, and landed almost silently, catlike, with both feet on the fire escape, just outside the window he’d been examining only a minute before.

 

He waited until Grayson walked into the bathroom. He heard the pipes groan as the shower turned on. Tim pulled a small crowbar from his satchel and jimmied the window open. He replaced the crowbar, and slipped inside. Secluding himself in the darkness, he waited.

 

Dick Grayson walked out of the bathroom, towel draped loosely around his waist. He walked to the fridge and fished a bottle of milk from the door. He flipped the light on and stopped.

 

‘Detective Grayson. We need to talk.’

 

Tim sat on the window sill, arms crossed.

 

‘Tim.’ Dick put the bottle of milk on the coffee table. ‘I guess I need to start locking the window.’

 

‘I’m not going to give this up, detective.’

 

_I can’t._

 

‘I can see that.’ Dick laughed. ‘Look, even if I wanted to let you in, it’s not a decision I can make. I need you to tell me what you know.’ Dick sat on the couch, and put his feet up on the coffee table.

 

‘When I was little, my mom and dad took me to the circus, right here in Gotham. I saw The Flying Graysons, and I’ll be honest, it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. The way you and your family moved, man, it was like magic. A couple of nights later, I saw on the news that they’d been killed. Your family, I mean. I’m sorry, by the way.’

 

Dick nodded, and gestured for Tim to continue.

 

‘Well, I was hooked. I started buying DVDs of circus shows, gymnastic displays, but nothing was as good as you. But the Flying Graysons were gone. Haly’s circus was ruined. So I started trawling the ‘net for as much footage of your shows as possible. I soaked it up. I memorized your routines. You were my obsession.

 

‘A couple of years ago, Batman and Robin saved me, and my family. We were walking home, and a gang of thugs rounded us into an alley. I’m sure they were going to kill us. They were yelling at my parents to give them their valuables. They had knives; one of them had a gun. There was so much yelling. And then, out of nowhere, Batman and Robin dropped from the roof. They beat the thugs, and we escaped.

 

‘The Batman became my obsession. I wanted to know who he was. Why he saved us. I needed to know. I followed him for years. Every news article, every bit of video I could find and clean up from the ‘net. And then I saw it, a video of you, Nightwing, in Blüdhaven. You pulled a triple somersault, and finished with a kick. The technique was there, and the form was flawless. My two obsessions had become one.

 

‘Once I realised that you were Robin, the rest fell into place. Why else would Bruce Wayne, the standoffish businessman, adopt a recently orphaned circus kid? He felt responsible. And the other boy he adopted, Jason. The one killed in a ‘skiing accident’? Yeah, right. He was the one who followed in your footsteps. The second Robin. The war with the Joker cost Batman his allies, and left him guilty. That’s why he’s falling apart now. He needs a team again.’

 

The pair sat in silence for a minute.

 

‘Tim…’

 

‘I know what you’re gonna say, Detective. I know it’s dangerous. I know that there’s a chance I could get hurt. I understand all that, and I’m still here.’

 

Dick stood up, and walked into his bedroom. Tim took a deep breath.

The detective re-emerged; he’d pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater. He stepped into a pair of moccasins, and picked up his wallet and keys.

 

‘Where are you going?’ Tim wasn’t giving up, and he didn’t want his best chance to get away.

 

‘ _We_ are going to Gotham. There’s someone you need to meet.’

 

******

 

The train ride back to Gotham was uneventful. The station was underneath Wayne Tower, right in the centre of the city. It was well after sundown, but the city was abuzz. The Tower, as well as most of the buildings in the business district, were still dotted with lights as hundreds of paper-pushers worked late, trying to climb higher up the corporate ladder.

 

They walked east across the bridge, past the myriad of theatres and playhouses that dotted the Chelsea streets. On the street level, and below, the nightclub scene was alive as well, a throbbing, pulsating mess of light and sound. No matter how far they went, Tim could see Wayne Tower looming over the city. He assumed it was part of the design, the centre point of the city. The Wayne family was nothing if not proud.

 

‘How far?’ Tim looked at Dick, but the detective made no move to answer. He’d been almost silent the whole trip. He’d made one brief phone call, but it had been limited to a couple of words. It had seemed uncomfortable.

 

The front door of the Clock Tower building was open, propped ajar by a phonebook as they approached. Tim followed Grayson as he stepped inside. He moved the phonebook, and let the door latch closed behind them. They moved into the elevator, and as the doors slid shut, the lights went out.

 

‘What happened to the li-’ The lift was suddenly bathed in green light. It began to move, going up Tim was certain, but the display showing which floor they were on was blank. The backlights for the buttons were out too. The movement stopped, and the doors slid open. A huge bank of computers took Tim’s attention. The buzzing whir of dozens of fans softly filled the air. Sitting at a desk near the middle of the room, a woman with long, auburn hair straightened her titanium framed glasses.

 

‘Mister Drake. Come in.’ She looked up from her computer screen and gestured at a seat across from her. ‘Have a seat.’

 

Tim did as he was bid, and sat across from her. Grayson waved, and the woman nodded.

 

‘I talked to him. It’s been sorted.’

 

‘Thanks.’ He disappeared through a door, to his left.

 

‘Tim, I am Oracle.’ She looked him up and down. ‘You’ve just entered into a world of secrets. Before we continue, you need to understand something. If you reveal any of these secrets to anyone, you will simply disappear. Nobody will know to look for you.’

 

Grayson walked back into the room, now wearing an armoured, black bodysuit, and domino mask. The armour was highlighted by a blue V-shape, stretching from shoulder to shoulder, covering his whole chest.

 

Tim stared across the table. Oracle met his stare, and held it.   


‘I don’t think I believe you, Oracle.’ Dick raised an eyebrow, but Tim continued. ‘You’re the good guys. I know that. You’re not going to hurt me.’

 

Grayson made a noise that might have been a laugh, or maybe a cough.

 

‘And besides, I could have gone to the media by now. If I was gonna rat you all out, I mean.’

 

‘He’s right, Oracle. I trust he’ll keep his mouth shut. He’s smarter than that.’ He’d won over Grayson. Good start.

 

Oracle took a breath, and squinted ever so slightly. Her gaze was intense, like she was trying to read his mind. ‘Tim. I know you’re not going to let this go. I understand. I can already see that you’re set on this, and I support that.’

 

‘You do?’ Nightwing seemed shocked.

 

‘I do. And from what I can find on file, I can tell you’re more than capable.’

  
Tim smirked proudly and leant back in his seat. Oracle looked strangely familiar, and he’d spent most of the meeting so far trying to place her. But in that moment, it all fell into place.

 

‘Batgirl?’  Barbara looked shocked, but only for a second. She stayed silent. ‘It is you. I thought you were dead.’

 

‘I retired.’ She was calm, but Nightwing, standing off to the side, was fidgeting.

 

‘How could you give up something like that?’

 

‘It’s complicated.’ Dick interjected. ‘Tim, it’s a long story.’

 

‘It’s not that long, or complicated.’ Barbara wheeled her chair from behind the desk. She circled to Tim’s side.

 

_Put your foot in it this time, Drake._

 

‘Oh. I didn’t realise. I’m so sor-’

 

‘Prove to me that you can follow orders, Tim. And we’ll consider bringing you onto the team. And don’t be fooled. This is serious business.’


	5. Barbara Gordon

**The hatch opened to a vantage point above the clock.** Barbara felt the fresh air wash in, as the first of the two armoured figures slipped through the manhole. Dick stopped for a moment and looked over towards her.  He took a breath, as though he was about to speak, but then turned and heaved himself through the hatch in the ceiling.

 

The door snapped shut and Barbara realised she was holding her breath. She let it go with a loud sigh to herself.

 

‘Nice to see you too, Dick.’

 

She wheeled back over to the computer, and set a headset to her ear. She drummed her fingers on the keyboard, and the screens in front of her blinked to life. Two readouts blipped up on the screen, on an application labelled ‘vitals’. The first, a heartbeat, blood pressure, core temperature and respiration readouts for Nightwing. The second was labelled ‘little-bird’. On the next screen, on a map of Gotham, a myriad of coloured blips swarmed around the islands. Various police contacts, persons of interest, and taxis had been tagged by the WayneTech satellites in geosynchronous orbit above Gotham. The satellites were part of a next generation communication infrastructure, but Barbara had piggybacked a small module onto each of them, which linked to the cave. In the field, anyone connected to the cave would have real-time HUD updates, facial recognition, and access to Police databases, as well as databases for a few federal agencies.

 

Barbara liked to be prepared.

 

Tim had caught her off guard, but she couldn’t hold it against him. She’d been just like Tim once, long ago.

 

‘Nightwing, testing secure channel 7.’

 

‘Copy, Oracle. Channel 7 is clear.’

 

‘Little-bird, are you on channel?’

 

‘Not sold on this call sign, Oracle.’ The kid had spirit. That was a good sign.

 

‘Okay boys, we’ve got suspicious activity at a warehouse down on Bay Side. Police have taken a call, but aren’t attending yet; they’re responding to a siege in the West Village.’

 

‘Anything else? We’re across the bridge. Should only be a few minutes to the other side of Burnley.’ They were moving fast, probably hitched a lift on top of a bus. It was good to hear Dick’s voice on the comms again. It had been a long time.

 

‘The warehouse is owned by Alberto Falcone.’ She admitted.

 

‘Never easy, is it? Going silent. Nightwing, out.’

 

The comms clicked off, and Barbara sighed again. She sat leant back and Tim’s words came back to her.

 

_How could you give up something like that?_

After she’d fought so hard to get there, it had nearly killed her to accept that she could no longer fight crime on the streets and rooftops of Gotham. She’d found a new place, and a new role, but it would never be the same. It was only six years ago that it had all begun. And on reflection, she could barely recognise the naive and optimistic girl she had been.

 

******

 

She had been following the urban legends for a while. Something was stalking the streets at night, a vigilante, maybe a monster. The police were trying to bring him in, to stop his crusade. Their public statements implied that they didn’t appreciate someone doing their job. Barbara knew they were cracking down because they were afraid he’d come after them.

 

The Gotham City Police Department was about as corrupt as they could get. Commissioner Loeb was well known to be under Carmine Falcone’s thumb. The Falcone crime Family were responsible for the majority of the organised crime scene in Gotham. Headed by Carmine ‘The Roman’ Falcone, they were an offshoot of the old Sicilian Mafia. They ran the drug trade, and had their hands in a number of other rackets including illegal bookmaking, prostitution, and gun smuggling. If another syndicate tried to make a start in the city, the Falcones either bought them out, or wiped them out.

 

The existence of the Batman threatened to strain the corrupt structure of the city, and that was something that Barbara could believe in. She resolved to meet him, to join him.

 

She’d already met him once. It was Christmas Eve, the third year since the Batman had first appeared. The city resembled a warzone; Thorne and Falcone soldiers were engaged in a prolonged and expansive shootout across Old Gotham.

 

Rupert Thorne, once a respected councilman, had raised a mob of his own, to capitalise on the vacuums the Batman’s crusade was leaving in the organised crime world. Anywhere the vigilante took out a Falcone operation, Thorne’s people moved in. While the Roman was a traditionalist, old-school Mafiosi, Thorne was the beginning of a new breed of organised crime. His followers were without the rules and codes that normally governed crime in the city; nothing was off limits.

 

The Batman was reportedly sighted at over a dozen of the conflicts that night. The GCPD issued a classified internal memo dictating _The Vigilante, known as The Batman, is to be apprehended on sight._ The majority of the police force wrote it off. The Batman was a ridiculous notion, so it was largely ignored.

 

But Barbara witnessed the Batman in action. She was hiding out at the GCPD Major Crimes headquarters at South Point. Her dad had insisted that she be there, for her protection. Fortunately, the precinct had a pretty good internet connection, and Jim’s credentials gave her an unlimited connection.

 

She was holed up in the server room, out of everyone else’s way, when she saw him. He dropped out of a ceiling vent, and moved so quickly and quietly that she only just caught sight of him. He didn’t see her, though. Any other day, the server room would’ve been deserted and he was focused. He was huge, easily over 6 feet tall. Black and grey body armour encased his body, and a long, black cape shrouded his shape. A black, sculpted mask and cowl covered his head, and most of his face, leaving only a chiseled jawline, firm frown and steely eyes uncovered. He pulled open the cover of a carefully selected server rack, and started working to hook in a device he lifted from his belt.

 

‘That’s not going to work.’ She didn’t know why she said it, but she couldn’t help herself. The masked man turned to face her. His eyes narrowed as he spotted her.

 

‘And what makes you think that?’ His voice was rough and thick.

 

‘You’re trying to bypass the security protocols, and gain remote access to the server?’

 

He grunted. She took that to mean she was right.

 

‘You’ll need to set up a physical bridge on the line into the building. Otherwise you’d still have to be using an internal port.’

 

‘And where would attach a physical bridge?’

 

She stepped closer, close enough to smell the sweat and smoke. He was breathing heavily; there was blood and grime caked onto his face.

 

‘There’s a maintenance hatch in the car park. There’s a junction box down there, I think. It’s probably locked, but I doubt that’d be a problem for you, would it?’

 

Barbara thought she saw a smile flicker across his lips, but it might have been a trick of the light. Before she had time to think about it, the sound of footsteps in the hall caught her attention.

 

‘Thank you.’ He was gone when she looked back, and his parting words were a mere whisper.

 

A pair of officers, SWAT from the looks of them, burst into the room, M4 assault rifles raised. They were shouting wildly. Barbara threw her hands above her head and shouted back.

 

‘It’s just me, you jerks!’

 

‘Who were you talking to?’ They seemed edgy, but lowered their guns all the same.

 

‘Web-chat on my computer. Is that a crime?’

 

‘Sorry, ma’am. You should probably get upstairs, hide out with your Dad.’

 

‘What’s with the artillery?’ She nodded at the guns. ‘Don’t tell me, you’re hunting The Batman?’

 

The SWAT officers muttered under their breaths as they walked out of the server room. Barbara felt a wave of excited relief wash over her. She’d met him, helped him. She was basically part of the team now, right?

 

******

 

Over the coming months, she decided she would be part of his team. Surely, she figured, he couldn’t keep the city safe by himself.  Amazed at what she could buy online, she began work on her own suit. Kevlar plating, nomex-woven fire resistant fabric, and an assortment of communication tech arrived in a steady flow of parcels and packages. She rebuilt her home computer as a cover, praying that her dad wouldn’t get curious enough to open a box. As it turned out, the hardware upgrade was well needed. She managed to hack the Batman’s communications after tracking down the bridge she’d recommended under the GCPD. It was easy, by her standards, to set up a closed server and radio channel from which she could monitor his communications.

 

Whilst she built up her hardware, she also set about upgrading herself. It was okay to take up judo without raising suspicions, but throwing herself into kickboxing and taekwondo at the same time required “late work at the library”. She also took to frequenting local gymnastics classes. She had been a star gymnast as a child, and aside from conditioning, it was just like riding a bike. In a few short months, she could move and jump and tumble as though she’d never stopped.

 

Before long, she was standing on a rooftop near the Bowery, looking across the city as the sun slowly set. She had modelled her armour on His, but added her own dramatic flair. The suit itself was grey, and she had stylised the bat symbol on her chest. She knew she wasn’t as physically imposing as The Batman, so she’d gone for a slightly different tactic: shock and distraction. Her cape’s inner lining was bright yellow, and the pouches on her belt were stocked full of smoke and flash pellets.

 

The radio she’d built into her cowl had two channels, one was GCPD communications, and the other was The Batman’s line to his “Cave”. Even if she wasn’t talking to him, it would be important to know where he was. She didn’t want to be mistaken for a bad guy, after all. Standing into the wind, she felt pretty damn heroic. Her cape caught the breeze and billowed majestically. She stepped forward off the building and threw a jump-line to a nearby fire-escape. The grappling head grabbed tight, and she swung down onto the lower building across the alley.

 

Far off, she imagined, in the centre of the chaos, a shrill, sickening laugh rattled into the sky, all but muted by the raging fire, crumbling buildings and terrible deluge of screams.

 

 

With perhaps the best timing she could have hoped for, sirens wailed past on the street below. Fire department. Barbara followed the trucks to the inferno. A thick, noxious cloud of grey-green smoke poured skyward as a cluster of apartments were engulfed by flames. She watched from a roof nearby, facing into the wind. She didn't have to hide. Everyone was watching the fire, not looking for capes on the roof. From the street they'd barely see her anyway: nothing but a billowing piece of black fabric painted orange by the glow of burning buildings. The fire crews were deploying ladders, clearly there were people trapped in the warehouse.

 

_Show time._

 

She let her left hand drop to her belt, quickly finding the miniature, gas-powered grappling gun. She briefly aimed and squeezed the trigger, sending a cable of nano-fibre in an arc toward the burning mess of buildings. It struck home and snapped tight. Batgirl, stepped forward off the edge of the building and swung down into the burning building.

 

Barbara entered feet first through a window on the 5th floor. She found her feet in the hallway and blinked away tears as the smoke burned her eyes. She quickly set her rebreather to her mouth, but the heat still made it hard to inhale. A door to her left flew open, and a man ran into the hallway, gun raised. Barbara spun into him, lifting the gun from his hands and throwing it behind her. It skittered down the hall, out of reach. She spun again, landing a savage kick to the man’s torso.

 

He kept his feet and blindly at the smoke. She pushed him backwards and pinned him against the wall with her forearm, his legs kicking uselessly at the ground.

 

‘What the hell are you doing? You’ve gotta get out of here!’ Batgirl yelled over the noise of the fire.

 

‘Like hell!’ He shouted back. ‘I’ll make sure she burns, even if I go too!’

 

She thumbed the concealed switch near her earpiece. The speaker came alive with static for a second, and then voices. A police sergeant mumbled the street name into his radio, and confirmed that the rescue crews couldn’t get up the stairs from the third floor.

 

She drove her forehead into his face, and the thug fell unconscious. Barbara dragged him back to the window she’d come through and dropped him unceremoniously onto the fire escape. She ran through the door into the apartment he’d come from. She could hear banging. Screams.

 

She followed the noise to a closet, barricaded shut behind a table. She kicked the table aside and threw the door open. A woman fell out, her face streaked with tears.

 

‘Thank god! Help me!’ she rasped.

 

‘I’m going to get you out of here! Come on!’ Barbara yelled as helped the woman to her feet.

 

The woman leaned on her as they made their way back to the fire escape. Barbara took hold of her grappling gun and leaned off the edge.

 

‘Hold on.’ Barbara yelled. The woman held tight to her shoulders as she let the grappling hook’s line play out. As Barbara lowered the woman to the ground a fireman spotted them.  She released her hook from the building and dashed down an alley away from the scene.

 

The adrenaline rush was intense; she felt invincible.

 

******

 

By 2am, she’d caught two muggers, and even managed to stop one before he started to run. She perched herself on a gargoyle about midway up Wonder Tower, the giant spire that marked the heart of Burnley. It was raining now, but she still felt fresh. Of course, she knew that she wouldn’t feel quite so good in the morning. The second mugger had landed a solid punch to her ribs, and whilst the armour had helped, there’d be bruising.

 

_Time to call it a night._

 

Moving around the city had become easier than she’d thought. With her jump-line and grappling hook, swinging building to building was rather simple, and her gymnastic training had not gone to waste. As she was crossing the roofs above Miagani Island, she saw something, a flash in the corner of her eye. Red?

 

She stopped running, and turned on the spot. She scanned the roof for a second, but it was gone. She turned back, ready to continue home and saw Him. The Batman was standing a few feet from her, like he’d materialised out of nothing. He looked less than human this time, there was no blood, or sweat. Just silent darkness. He was still, not even seeming to breathe.

 

‘Who are you, and what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ His voice was a growl, harsh and angry.

 

She pulled her cowl back off her face, and stared back at him. ‘You remember? I helped you in the GCPD last Christmas?’

 

‘Barbara? Does your father know you’re out this late?’

 

She took a long, slow breath. Of course her father didn’t know. He’d said that to get to her, to make her feel like a child. She was seventeen, and tonight had damn well proven that she could handle herself.

 

‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Miss Gordon, but you need to stop. This city is dangerous after dark.’ At least the aggression was gone from his voice; the growl was now a harsh whisper.

 

‘I know it’s dangerous, that’s why I’m out here, helping people. I want to join you.’ It hadn’t sounded quite so lame in her head.

 

‘You can’t. It’s too dangerous for-’

 

‘A Girl?’ She matched his stare, trying not to let any weakness show.

 

‘Someone who hasn’t been properly trained.’

 

‘And being a girl probably won’t help, either.’ This voice came from somewhere else, making Barbara’s blood boil. It was younger, and more spoken than growled. She looked to her left, and saw him. The kid might have been fifteen if he was lucky. A domino mask covered his face, and a black cape fell from his shoulders, revealing a bright yellow underside. Under the cape, a red, armoured tunic, green tights, black gloves and high, black boots. ‘Let’s just take her in like the other costumed loons.’

 

Barbara smiled to herself, wondering if the kid would ever appreciate the irony of what he’d said.

 

‘I suppose he’s “been properly trained”? What is he, like, twelve?’

 

As if to prove her point, he poked his tongue out at her.

 

‘Robin is my partner.’ As the armoured figure spoke, the kid smiled a goofy, proud smile. ‘He’s been training for months, and while he still has a lot to learn, I am confident in his abilities. I can trust him. I can’t trust you. I don’t know you.’

 

‘Okay, but here’s the thing. I’m going to keep doing this. And the only way you can stop me is to arrest me.’

 

Without giving him a second to berate her some more, she ran to the edge of the building and threw herself into the night. She was blocks away before she stopped running. She drank in some deep breaths, and tried to compose herself. She’d met The Batman before. She’d helped him. He was meant to let her be his partner. She wiped a tear from her cheek, and continued home. She slipped into her bedroom through an unlocked window, and quickly stowed her suit in a box under her bed.

 

Curled up, safe and warm, she made a silent vow to herself.

 

Batgirl would fly again, with or without Him.


	6. Dick Grayson

**‘Never easy, is it?** Going silent. Nightwing, out.’

 

The bus wove clumsily through the traffic. The depot, not far from the city centre of Burnley, was only a few blocks away. Nightwing turned his head to face Tim. The younger boy was pressed against the top of the bus, holding tight.

 

_He'll hate me when he finds the mag-clamps in his belt._

 

'Little bird. Grappling-gun. Kord Omniversal sign. See you up there.' He took his own grapple and fired it high, smiling to himself as the clamp latched onto the blue Kord sign. The retractor kicked in as he squeezed the trigger, and he sailed toward the building. Nearing the top, he grabbed a protruding ledge, detached the grapple, and kicked off the building in a polished, if extravagant, backflip. The line zipped back, and the claw locked into place. Barely a second later, he discharged the gas-chamber, and the claw shot off to the top of the building. The line snapped tight as the head gripped a gargoyle, and Nightwing continued his ascent. He looked over his shoulder for the kid, half expecting to see him still on the bus. But Tim was half way up the building, grappling between ledges and balconies with impressive speed.

 

_Nowhere near as much style, though._

 

Nightwing propped himself on the gargoyle, a feature almost as common as windows in Gotham, and waited for Tim to finish his climb. He was good, but cautious. With a bit of practice, he'd be up in half the time. As he pulled himself onto the ledge, Nightwing grinned.

 

'Ready to go again?'

 

Tim took a deep breath.

 

'Try to keep up.' The kid took a running start, and threw himself off the north edge of the towering office block. Nightwing watched with a smile as a jump line shot out, and Tim directed his fall like a giant pendulum. He stepped onto the ledge and followed.

 

******

 

'Don't get used to this matching costumes thing, either. I'm not your sidekick.'

 

Dick tried not to laugh. In truth, the armour Tim was clad in was one of Dick's old backup sets, from his days as Robin. The striking red had been re-sprayed black, and the outline of the bold R was still visible. The set was probably slightly too big; Tim was certainly not the same shape Dick had been. But if it was uncomfortable, the kid was good at adapting to it. He had managed to move smoothly on their trip across town.

 

The pair crouched on a rooftop, looking down across the road at a warehouse. The cargo ship moored at the corresponding dock was dark, and quiet, and there was only a sparse scattering of traffic on the road. The warehouse, by comparison, was a mess of activity. Three semi-trailers were lined up by the entrance, and a steady flow of men in black coats and balaclavas were ferrying crates and boxes into the trucks. A half dozen men stood guard around the trucks, armed with various assault rifles and shotguns. Nearby, three men in flash suits and brimmed hats leant against a dark red Chrysler sedan. The man in the middle took long drags from a cigarette, whilst the other two gripped military grade machine guns.

 

‘Okay, kid,’ Dick whispered sharply, ‘I’m going after the guns. Wait for my signal, and don’t do anything stupid.’

 

Without waiting for a reply, he dropped off their rooftop vantage, swinging on a jump line onto the warehouse roof. Landing silently, he whipped the jump line back to him, and let the grapple gun retract the cable. He watched as the gunmen shuffled around the trucks lazily, waiting for the opportune moment.

 

They reached their furthest apart, each of them facing in a different direction, and Nightwing saw his window.

 

_Now._

 

Dropping from the roof, he landed with both feet on the shoulders of the nearest gunman. The first of two shotguns was out of commission. The noise of the crumpling man made the mooks start, and they all turned to face him, guns up.

Whipping wing-dings from his belt, he sent two assault rifles skittering across the asphalt, leaving the bewildered men unarmed and reeling. Next, he sprung left, tumbling into a cartwheel and transferring the momentum into a kick, collapsing the second shotgun-armed mook. The remaining assault rifles burst to life, shots pinging off the truck behind him. He dropped low and threw a handful of small capsules at the ground. Smoke shrouded the air around him. The unarmed men were massing now, a number of them having found tire irons, crowbars, and various other improvised blunt weapons and knives. He heard tires scream as the red sedan fled the scene.

 

Nightwing stood up and drew the pair of escrima mounted on his back as he started to run. He broke out of the smoke at speed, and quickly pounced at the two gunmen, who had foolishly moved together. Lashing out at knees and elbows, Dick made short work of the gunmen, and turned to face the dozen or so men eager to try their luck.

 

‘Now, kid.’ He hissed into his throat mic. As he spoke, three of the braver mooks moved in on him, two of them swinging wildly with crowbars. Dick dropped below the assault and hammered at the knees of the man to his right. He spun to catch the punch of the third man, but doing so made him miss the second crowbar on the backhand. Steel collided with the shock-pads surrounding his chest, knocking the breath out of him. He swung his left stick in a short arc to block another swing, and jabbed his right at the man’s throat. The mook buckled, coughing and grasping at his throat.

 

_Keep moving._

 

A knife came in high, Nightwing caught the arm and replied by dislocating the attacker’s shoulder. He cartwheeled backwards, gaining some distance from the group. Three crumpled men lay between him and them, but they didn’t seem fazed at all. Tim dropped from the roof, and landed behind the mob, unnoticed. Dick saw the play, and continued to back away slowly.

 

‘You gents sure you don’t wanna pick a fair fight? Maybe some boy-scouts, or a sick puppy?’

 

Tim whipped his bō staff over the head of the closest goon, like a garrotte, quickly and quietly pressing pulling him backwards and starving him of air. The man’s legs gave out, and Tim let up, and started stalking his next target.

 

‘No? Okay then. You want me?’

 

Tim’s reached up with a gloved hand, covering the next man’s mouth, as he drove his knee up into the man’s crotch. As the mook collapsed, he delivered a sharp crack with the Bō, knocking the man out cold. The sound of their falling comrade caught the attention of the mob. Dick reached into a pouch on his belt, and retrieved a pair of capsules. He whipped them at the ground, and then leapt forward as they exploded. Bright orange flashes lit the parking lot, as Nightwing charged.

 

‘Come get me!’ he roared as he came down on the nearest goon with a brutal, duel weapon sweep. The man was out instantly, and Nightwing dove to his right, into a roll. Coming up between three more men, he fired off a series of rapid-fire blows, bringing them all to the ground. Tim faced off against the back of the slowly diminishing group, countering knife thrusts with brutal precision, shattering hands and fingers, before dispatching his attackers with careful jabs.

 

Dick landed a kick to another’s chest, sprawling him across the concrete. He smirked for a second too long, and a knife pierced the side his armour just below his ribs. He grabbed with his right arm, trapping the attacker’s hand, and unleashed a barrage of punches to the man’s torso.

 

The last of the mooks fell, and Dick gripped the handle of the knife.

 

‘Stop! Don’t pull it out!’ Tim’s voice was urgent, but oddly calm at the same time. ‘I thought a cop would know better.’

 

‘It’ll…’ Dick yanked the three inch blade free of his flesh, ‘… be fine.’

 

‘You idiot, you’ll bleed out.’

 

Dick waved his hand dismissively, and reached into a pouch on his belt. He retrieved something small and clear, about the size and shape of an aspirin. He pressed the capsule onto the knife wound, until it ruptured with a small pop. Clear liquid oozed over the wound.

 

‘There, good as new.’ The liquid, as Dick explained when they returned to their rooftop, was not unlike superglue. It also contained a substance which instantly clotted blood, thereby stopping the bleeding, as well as antiseptics to prevent infection. Oracle had tried to integrate an anaesthetic as well, but Bruce was convinced that it would prevent the clotting agent from working effectively.

 

The pair stood vigil until the Police arrived. As they loaded the last of the mooks into a squad car, Dick stepped away from the edge.

 

‘Shame we didn’t get an ID on the guy running the gig.’ He turned to face Tim, who was grinning under his domino mask.

 

‘I figured that’s what the tracking dots were for, right?’

 

Dick cycled a few settings on his mask’s HUD, and laughed.

 

‘I’ve got them moving south, almost at the bridges. Good work, little bird.’

 

‘It was good work. But it won’t be happening again.’ Batman replied.

 

_Crap._

 

******

 

‘I can’t believe you’d let them do this!’ Bruce was furious. Oracle, staring back at him from her chair, was just as angry.

 

‘Well what was I supposed to do, Bruce? Tell him to go home? Because that always works!’

 

‘You’re supposed to be on my side, Barbara. How can I trust you if you pull stunts like this behind my back?’

 

‘I am on your side! We’re all on your side. I’m making sure that _you_ have a side.’

 

Bruce was in his armour, with the cowl stripped back to reveal his face. He looked tired, but Dick got the feeling that this argument could go for hours. He and Tim were seated near the map-table, in the centre of the room. Their domino masks and weapons were strewn on the table, and Tim was nervously bitting his fingers. The Dark Knight turned and faced them; the colour drained out of Tim’s face.

 

‘Why are you in my city?’ He growled at Dick. ‘I thought you were “never coming back.”’

 

‘Well, what did you expect me to do, Bruce? Kid is standing in the street calling me Nightwing.’

 

‘He wants to play a part. He knows the risks.’ Barbara wasn’t going to let this go. Dick knew her better than Bruce did. He could tell she was set in her decision.

 

‘After what happened to Jason? To Harvey Dent? To you? There’s no room in my work for allies. They’d just be more people that can get hurt.’

 

‘Bruce, that’s a cop out, and you know it. Jason and I made our choices. We knew what we were getting into, and so does Tim.’

 

‘So I’m meant to forget about Jason’s sacrifice?’

 

‘Jason was murdered. That wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t yours.’

 

‘I said no. If you take this kid out again,’ Bruce turned to face Dick again, ‘I’ll bring you down like anyone else.’

 

Without another word, he lifted himself though the access hatch and into the darkness. The hatch slammed shut behind him, leaving a deafening clash that made Dick’s ears ring.

 

‘I hope he doesn’t think he can just ignore me into letting this go.’ Tim pulled it together quickly. The worry was gone from his face.

 

‘You’ll just have to work harder to prove yourself.’ Barbara cracked a smile. ‘We’ll make this happen.’

 

‘You’ve got skills, kid. Shouldn’t be too much work to make a first class crime fighter outta you.’

 

‘Please stop calling me “kid”. I’m probably older than you were when you became Robin.’ Tim was right. Dick was a child when he’d started.

 

‘Alright, Tim. Have you put much thought into what you’d like to be called? We’ll need to get you a costume.’

 

‘I’ve already talked to Alfred. He’s bringing something around.’ Barbara was organised, and that was no surprise. But Dick still couldn’t believe she wanted to bring Tim in.

The morning drew on, and Tim soaked up information, as Dick and Barbara dumped wisdom and trivia, answering his questions and filling in the blanks in the history he had followed.

 

It was strange being around Barbara again. Sharing stories, swapping jokes. It was like he’d never left. But then an emptiness in the pit of his stomach reminded Dick that he had left. He’d left the city, and she hadn’t followed. After going so long without contact, could they pick up where they’d left off?

 

A knock announced the entrance of a tall, wiry man, carrying two large briefcases.

 

‘I had to wait until Master Bruce turned in for the day. I hope you weren’t waiting.’

 

Dick noted the progression of the crow’s feet around Alfred’s eyes, the increasing grey that peppered his hair.

 

‘Alfie! Long time, no see.’

 

The elder man sat the brief cases on a nearby desk, and faced him.

 

‘Yes, well that happens when someone leaves town.’ His face was blank, and his voice flat. Not the response Dick had hoped for. Until the hints of a smile cracked across his face. A second later, the old man smiled an inviting smile, and opened his arms, gesturing for a hug. ‘It’s good to see you, Master Dick.’

 

‘So, let’s see then?’ Tim was already poking around the cases, and Alfred slapped his hands away teasingly.

 

‘Ah, so you’re the new bird to the flock.’ He produced a key, and popped the locks. He paused for a second, and then opened the cases in unison.

Dick smirked, Barbara let out a single ‘heh’. Tim, though, was awestruck. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were bright with possibility.

 

‘Try it on, it’s all yours.’ Alfred seemed proud of how well his work had been received. Tim took the cases from the desk, into the armoury.

 

The finished product was stunning. A long cape hung from his shoulders, meeting at a high collar, and falling to his heels, solid black on the outer, and stunning yellow on the inside. His green limbs, capped with black gloves, and tall black boots stood contrasted by the strong red of the breastplate. And on his chest, above his heart, a sharp, italic ‘R’ paid tribute to the bold symbol worn by Dick.

 

Tim stood tall, bō staff in his left hand, whilst his right hand guided a green domino mask to his face.

 

He looked up at Dick, then to Barbara.

 

‘Whether he knows it or not, Batman needs Robin.’


	7. Barbara Gordon

**Barbara emerged from** behind a cloud of steam wrapped in a yellow dressing gown, with her hair wrapped up in a towel of its own and arranged in a small tower atop her head. Her dad, newly appointed Commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department, stirred his coffee gently. He'd been out all night with the warehouse siege, but was still expected to show up to work today. From the looks of the bags under his eyes, he was in for a long day. Anyone else who took on the role of Commissioner would have become a desk jockey, but her dad stayed active.

 

‘You know you don’t have to wait up for me. You have school to think of.’ He said helpfully.

 

_I must look tired._

 

She always worried when he didn't come home on time, and when she’d been younger waiting for him was all she could do. These days she was as likely to be out all night as he was.

 

She slipped into her bedroom, and re-emerged, hair a tousled mess, having discarded the towel in favour of a bright purple dressing gown with matching fuzzy slippers.

 

‘Did I miss much?’

 

‘The rich guy, with the cancer, he's cheating on his wife too now. With her sister, I think.’

 

‘Oh my god!’ Barbara gasped in mock horror. Daytime soaps were her choice of entertainment, but her dad watched them with her often enough. She was pretty sure he secretly enjoyed them.

 

The show had finished and made way for the evening news. The lead story was Roman Sionis’ bid for mayor. He’d held an elaborate press conference earlier in the afternoon.

 

‘I will rebuild this city.’ He announced. ‘The damage done by The Joker and his terrorist cell reaches far down into the foundations of Gotham. But as long as someone is willing to fight, we won’t be beaten.’

 

The shot cut to a news anchor, who clumsily segued into the next story.

 

‘Takes himself seriously, doesn’t he?’ Jim Gordon shook his head.

 

Barbara settled on the couch with her book, a recent journal of criminology, and cracked a smile.

 

‘Well, someone has to. After the troubles he’s had with the family business, I’d guess stockholder confidence is low. And I can’t trust him. He seems… sleazy.’

 

‘I don’t know that he’s that bad, Barb. I mean, the man’s a businessman. I think they have to be a bit sleazy, right?’

 

‘I guess.’

 

_Bruce never struck me as sleazy._

 ‘It’s time for a new mayor. Hill has had his term, and hasn’t done anything spectacular.’ Her dad wasn’t an old man, but the stress of his job seemed to weigh his face down. His eyes were framed by bags and wrinkles, and she was starting to notice flecks of grey showing through his reddish-brown hair. He pushed his square-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and reached for his tea. ‘I just wish these bozos would wait until they’re actually in office before they start declaring “war on crime”. What do they think I do all day? Bake?’

 

‘You think he’ll get in?’

 

‘Men like Roman Sionis, they have a way of getting what they want? I wouldn’t be surprised.’

 

‘You think he’s dirty?’

 

Jim didn’t reply, he just laughed. But Barbara took his meaning.

 

_In this town, who isn’t?_

******

 

Dissatisfied with her current vantage, Batgirl took a running jump from the roof. She threw a line and swung to the next building. The feeling was euphoric. The wind in her hair, rain spattering on her face, and the whole city her playground. She ran along the rooftops, jumping, swinging and gliding. The soft buzz of the police scanner in her ear kept her excited. Eventually a call would come in near her, and then she could swing into action. In the meantime, she found a new perch. Rain spotted the concrete around her, cooling the warm spring air.

 

_As long as Batman and Bird-boy don’t crash my party._

She was sticking to Burnley, most of the Batman’s activity was in New Gotham. He only came over the bridge occasionally. The crime that took place on the southern island, typically muggings, and not even violent ones, was over before he could get to it. He left that sort of things to the cops. She’d been watching him in action, studying his patterns, ever since she’d been told to stop.

 

She stopped at the next ledge, looking across the buildings towards the Bay Side docks. The rain was beginning to lighten, and the full moon was poking timidly through the clouds.

 

‘The problem with purple? Stands out.’

 

She turned towards the voice, and found a lady clad in a dark bodysuit. Her blonde hair snapped in the wind as she stepped from her shadowy corner. A slim domino mask obscured her face, and her right hand gripped a long bō staff. Barbara cursed herself for missing the very obvious. She stood tall and threw her cape dramatically outwards.

 

‘Who are you, and what are you doing in my city?’ She hoped she sounded intimidating.

 

‘Hahah! Your city?’ Another voice. Cheery. Male. ‘I know a man with a rodent fetish who might beg to differ.’

 

Barbara slowly turned to find the second voice, eventually spotting a man in a green hood with a spectacular compound bow, an arrow nocked and levelled at her torso. A quiver of arrows protruded above his right shoulder, and dark green armour covered his chest and bow arm. His other arm was unarmoured, showing off intense muscles beneath dark skin.

 

‘So he sent you? More of his partners?’

 

‘Not exactly. Never known The Bat to keep a partner.’ The archer sounded uncertain, his face troubled behind his excessively sculpted goatee.

 

‘He has one lately. A sidekick in a red and green costume.’

 

‘Oh…’ The green man looked surprised.

 

‘Never mind him,’ the blonde stepped towards her, almost within reach, ‘He did send us. Asked if we’d keep you from getting killed.’

 

‘I’m not going to get killed. This is what I want to do.’ She was trying hard not to sound desperate. ‘I want to help people. Protect the city. I wanna take down corruption and evil.’

 

The blonde woman smiled warmly. She was stunning. Barbara realised that she probably wasn’t much older than she was.

 

‘He doesn’t want your help?’

 

‘No. He told me to quit.’

 

‘Canary?’ The archer looked worried, like he was about to be roused by an angry parent. ‘What are you doing?’

 

‘What do you call yourself, hon?’ Her eyes had a spark in them, and it seemed to be worrying the archer.

 

‘Batgirl.’

 

‘Batgirl. I’m The Black Canary. And this is my partner-‘

 

‘Mentor.’

 

‘-partner.’ She shot him a glare, ‘Green Arrow. I’ve heard enough, I don’t think you need to quit. I think you’re ready for this.’

 

‘We’re meant to be convincing her to quit. Not patting her on the back.’

 

‘Go home, if you don’t like it, Arrow. This one has promise, and I’m not going to let The Bat waste it.’

 

Whilst Arrow slunk off across the roof tops, Batgirl and Canary agreed on a meeting spot for the next night. Canary was going to put her through her paces, and then the real work would begin.

 

******

 

‘Roman Sionis ran his late father’s cosmetics company into the ground. He was, for all intents and purposes, bankrupt. Suddenly, the week before the company busts, a mysterious anonymous donation keeps the doors open. And then he starts turning a profit. Now he’s one of the most profitable businessman in the country.’ Barbara took a breath and smiled.

 

‘And you think he’s dirty?’ Canary narrowed her eyes.

 

‘My Da-uh… I mean… My source thinks there’d be a paper trail, if we look hard enough.’

 

‘And your source is solid?’ Canary smiled, ignoring the slip-up.

 

‘I’d trust him with my life.’

 

‘Well, it’d be a shame if a crooked man got into politics. Election is, what, three weeks out?’

 

Barbara nodded.

 

‘You wanna protect the city? We need to find out what his deal is before he buys his way into the mayor’s office.’

 

Barbara felt a twinge of excitement.

 

_Time to make a difference._

******

 

‘I hadn’t expected to spend so much time in air-con ducts.’ Barbara sighed and hauled herself along the long, stainless steel shaft.

 

‘You wanted to bring down the titan of industry. This is how it’s done.’

 

‘This one?’ she pointed, forgetting that the voice in her ear couldn’t see it, and would have to judge based on a GPS blip.

 

‘That one.’

 

Barbara played out a cable from her belt and hooked a grapple to the grate cover. She pressed a boot to the cover and pushed. The screws gave and the cable kept the cover from skittering to the floor. She pulled it back into the vent.

 

She slipped out of the duct and landed in the room below, stretching widely and shaking off the building feeling of claustrophobia. The office was large and full of chest high cubical partitions. At the front of the room a hugged count down announced the few days left before the election, and a lavish desk, likely Sionis’, sat drowned in flyers and paperwork. Barbara slipped around the office and started riffling the desk for a diary or ledger.

 

‘Remember, look for a diary or ledger. Something written in shorthand maybe? Something that will tell us where his real operation is.’

 

‘Yes ma’am.’ Barbara smiled to herself. Canary was a good handler, but she’d picked up the infiltration game a bit faster than the senior vigilante realised.

 

She made her way down through drawers, checking for false bottoms or hidden switches. Unsuccessful, she spotted a blank note pad by the phone. The spiral binding was full of tabs of paper, where dozens of notes had been torn off previously. Feeling silly, Barbara took a pencil and shaded over the blank paper. Surprised that such a clichéd manoeuvre had yielded anything, she let out a squeak as letters formed under her pencil.

 

‘You okay, B?’

 

‘“4 A-V, T-S” mean anything to you?’

 

‘Nothing I can think of, but it’s better than nothing.’

 

Barbara heard keystrokes, presumably Canary taking a note. She did another once over of the desk and drawers, took photos of campaign employee lists, donor lists and expense accounts and then headed out the way she came.

 

******

 

‘And you’re sure you got the grate cover back on? People notice that sort of thing?’

 

‘I nearly stuck myself to the vent doing it. I’m sure.’

 

Canary had lent her a field kit. It contained all sorts of fancy tools and gadgets; quick setting epoxies adhesives, blasting caps, flash bangs.

 

_Can’t buy stuff like that on Amazon. Canary must have a military contact._

Barbara plugged her micro-camera into Canary’s laptop and waited whilst the files synced. She’d set up a secure server between the laptop and her own workstation at home. Self-conscious of her computer’s virtual alias, “Batcave”, she tried to avoid letting canary look over her shoulder as she sifted through the photos. The senior vigilante was so relaxed and cool about everything, Barbara couldn’t help feeling a little like a child playing dress-ups.

 

_Batcave? What were you thinking? So lame._

 

They poured over the names in the documents, comparing them to lists of known mob associates, wanted lists, but everything came up clean. If Sionis was dirty, he wasn’t stupid.

 

The duo was hiding out on the top floor of an abandoned office building on Burnley’s north side. It was dusty and dank. The floor was covered in watermarks where the roof was leaking. The boarded windows kept them safe from being seen.

 

‘Oh… It’s a street reference. Fourth Avenue and Trident Street. In Columbia.’ Barbara looked stunned. ‘I was expecting something more difficult.’ She cursed herself for not seeing it sooner.

 

‘I guess it’s a meeting place. We’ll go scope out the building, see what we can find.’

 

The trip across town was quick. The extra set of eyes meant they could keep a better look out; less time spend being careful. By the time they got across the bridge, Barbara was barely thinking about The Batman; Canary had her back.

 

Sitting above the streets of mid-town, nestled among the gargoyles which lined Gotham’s rooftops, Batgirl and Black Canary watched the flow of people. With infrared and enhanced optics they could sort through the crowed and spot anyone up to no good. Tonight though, everything seemed to be above board.

 

As night turned to morning, Barbara was the first to move. She stood back from the ledge and stretched.

 

‘Not a single person affiliated with Sionis. I guess we were grasping at straws…” she let out a yawn and rubbed her eyes.

 

‘Time to call it a night, I think.’ Canary answered. ‘You run the names again, see if there’s anything we missed. I’ll find everything I can on this building.’ She gestured across the street, a lazy wave.

 

‘Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow night.’

 

‘Stay out of trouble, Batgirl.’ She stood up and headed for the fire escape. As she moved past, Barbara began to second guess herself. It was clear from the way Canary held herself that she’d been working at this for a long time.

_Why is she helping a rookie like me?_

‘Canary?’

 

‘Yeah, hon?’

 

‘Uhm… Thanks for this.’

 

The blonde woman turned. She shot Barbara a smile, before disappearing over the edge of the building.

 

After finding a sheltered roof top and slipping into street clothes away from prying eyes, she made her way home. The bus ride felt like an eternity, and sneaking in through the bedroom window seemed juvenile. She tried her hardest not to dwell on it. She had a mentor, and was learning quickly. Things were looking up.

 

******

 

Oracle tapped her earpiece, sure that she’d heard wrong.

 

‘I didn’t copy. Say again, Robin.’

 

‘He said “eating people”, O. Jones eats people.’


	8. Tim Drake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - Graphic depiction of violence/torture, implication of cannibalism after the second break (******).

**The sun outside looked glorious.** Birds perched in the trees, and students lounged on the grass beneath them. Tim was sure it was the best weather they’d had all month, and he was trapped inside. Ms Bertinelli sat behind the desk at the front of the room, busying herself marking the papers they’d submitted in the class earlier that morning. Her long dark hair was pulled into a tight professional ponytail, and she had overcompensated for her ‘too young to be a teacher’ good looks by dressing in drab charcoal pants and a blazer.

 

It was just after one o’clock, and he should have been at lunch, but he’d earned a detention for his submission. A title page stapled to a blank page, it seemed, was not an acceptable paper. “Not taking it seriously” or something.

 

In truth, he’d barely had time to remember to do that much. He and Nightwing were spending their nights patrolling the streets bringing down muggers, thugs and gun-runners, as well as occasional organised crime players. Physics just held so little challenge for him now. He lay his head on the desk, staring out at the sunlight. He couldn’t wait for the sun to go down, so he and Nightwing could take to the streets.

 

The bell screamed, signaling the change of period. Tim stood up, straightened his shirt and tie and left. Ms Bertinelli tried to get his attention, but he had nothing to say to her.

 

He slipped into his sociology classroom and slumped into a seat near the back. Stephanie shot him a mournful, yet somehow radiant smile.

 

_Great, now I’m getting sympathy?_

******

 

Robin leapt through the air, landing a kick to the man’s chest. He jumped to his feet and swatted his quarry with his staff. The man growled defiantly, but stayed down.

Another one had slipped past Nightwing and was making for the door. Tim dropped a hand to his belt and found his shurikens. He let a barrage go, toppling the man as he ran. Before he could recover, Tim had closed the distance between them. A flurry of blows kept this one down as well. He scooped up his shurikens and waited for the next runner.

Grayson had them bottlenecked, and was making short work as they tried to flee. Crates and trucks of stolen Queen Incorporated weapons tech were strewn around the warehouse.

 

_Someone is preparing for war._

 

He had them down to two or three now. Tim could see Nightwing slowing down. He was trying to keep at least one conscious for questioning. He saw a window and slapped at two of them with his escrima, landing sharp blows to their heads. Seeing that he was the last man standing, the last mook hesitated. Nightwing threw him to the floor, and set his knee on the man’s chest and Tim moved in. He squirmed and shouted, Nightwing swatted him with an armoured hand.

 

‘Who’s in charge here?’ A gravelly growl replaced his usually friendly voice when he put on the mask. ‘Who are you working for?’

 

Tim collapsed the telescopic arms of his staff, 18 inches of baton remained. He held it firmly as his eyes met with their prisoner’s.

 

‘Scum doesn’t know anything. Waste him and move on.’ He tried to emulate the deep, rough voice, to limited success.

 

‘He’ll talk. Just needs some motivation.’ To punctuate his threat, Nightwing took the man’s hand by the index finger. The mook spat in Nightwing’s face. Nightwing dislocated the man’s finger, leaving him screaming. He tightened his grip on the next finger.

 

‘Don’t do it, man! I’ll talk!’

 

Tim nodded, approvingly.

 

‘Waylon Jones! He’s our boss. Told us to hit the convoy. Now please, arrest me!’

 

‘Do we look like cops to you?’ Dick growled, and Tim had to hide a smile.

 

‘You gotta lock me up! Don’t let Jones get me!’

 

Grayson hit him across the jaw, knocking him out cold. Tim cycled a switch on the side of his mask.

 

‘Police are on the way. What’s Jones doing to keep his people scared like that?’

 

‘I’ve seen some wackos. Could be anything.’

 

_I don’t like the sound of that._

 

******

 

They ran Jones’ record through Oracle and traced his operation to a nearby warehouse in the meat-packing district. Files showed Jones as a thug-for-hire and part time murderer. Smuggling was outside his usual repertoire.

 

From the rooftop, they saw a man carried roughly from a four-wheel-drive and dragged into the warehouse. Robin and Nightwing moved quickly down the building, landing near the loading bay in time to see a door close behind the mooks. The duo ran in small, smooth steps.

 

_Quiet. Quick._

 

They covered the distance and Nightwing pressed his ear to the door. Robin flicked his mask and infrared filters painted his vision in blue and orange smudges.

 

‘Two in the next room.’ He hissed.

 

‘Door just closed. Hope there’s no windows.’ Nightwing hissed back.

 

He ducked aside and Tim threw his shoulder into the door. The frame cracked, and the door fell away. Robin fell and rolled with it, cracking smoke pellets as he landed. Nightwing moved through the door after him, bringing down the guards before they could make a noise.

 

The room was an office, likely doubling as a storeroom. There was only on other door out of the room; a large, heavy looking sliding door with a handwritten note pinned to it.

 

_“Cold storage! Shut the damn door!”_

‘Time for some diplomacy. Follow my lead.’

 

Nightwing set his escrima batons in the holsters behind his shoulders and stepped towards the door. Tim draped his cape forward, concealing as much of his slender shape as he could manage. When dealing with criminals, looking big was important.

 

Nightwing threw the door open, and a wave of crisp, refrigerated air washed over them. Glad of the thermal underlay built into his suit, Robin followed his mentor into the cold room.

 

‘Jones!’ Nightwing raised his voice over the cooling fans, and it came out a gravelled bark.

 

Nearby thugs moved to engage, but a man sitting at a huge ornate desk called them off with a lazy gesture. He was big, easily 300 pounds. His bald head drew attention to the scaly texture of his dark skin. Reclining in his chair, dressed in a freshly pressed suit, Jones looked dangerous without even lifting a finger.

 

‘We’re here to talk.’

 

‘So you say.’ The man’s voice was deep and honeyed. He spoke slowly, with a thick Louisiana drawl. ‘Why are little men breaking into mah office? Don’t you know this is a place of business?’

 

He placed a fork and steak knife on the desk. Tim noted the plate, and the huge juicy looking steak.

 

_Late dinner._

 

‘Your people aren’t as loyal as you think, Jones. A dozen of them rolled over on you. They’re making statements with the police, testifying that you organised the weapon shipment hijacks.’

 

‘Oh, ah know they are not loyal.’ Jones tried to interrupt, but Nightwing kept his voice loud and strong, drowning out the much larger man.

 

‘I‘ll bet the numbers on this guy’s M-16,’ he gestured to the nearest mook, ‘would come up an exact match to the Queen hardware that went missing last week. That’s a big step up, Jones. Who put you up to it?’

 

‘Little man, you bluff is not worrying me. Ah know that mah men are not loyal, but they are not talking to the police. Lou, show these gentlemen what we do to our friends who squeal to the police.’

 

Lou, the man packing the M-16, opened a door to a smaller freezer. Tim stifled the urge to vomit as his eyes met the sobbing man hanging by bound hands. His left leg looked like it had been gnawed off at the knee. His right was removed by a cleaner cut, the bloody bandsaw nearby, Tim guessed. The wounds were open, bloody, but the cold seemed to be slowing the bleed. From behind a gag, the man shouted and screamed and whimpered. Lou closed the door.

As Nightwing turned to face Jones, the big man wiped his mouth with a napkin, and placed it neatly on the desk.

 

_Oh god…_

 

‘As ah said. They are not loyal. They are scared. And let me tell you: Ah am equally afraid of what would happen to me if ah talked.’ The big man stood up, towering over everyone else in the room. Tim felt a fear in the pit of his stomach like he’d never felt before. But Jones was calm.

 

‘Gentlemen, our business is concluded. Give The Batman mah regards. You can find your own way out, ah trust.’

 

The Creole kept his men on a leash, allowing Nightwing and Robin to leave unhindered. When they got clear of the building, up into the relative safety of the roof tops, Tim broke the silence.

 

‘He was… uh…’

 

‘Yep.’ Grayson looked pale. Maybe not nauseous, like Tim, but drained. ‘Call it in.’

 

‘But what’s our next-‘

 

‘I don’t know, but Oracle will know what to do.’

 

Tim put a finger to his ear, toggling his radio from silent to constant.

 

‘Oracle, we found Jones. We also found out why nobody ever testifies against him.’

 

‘Go ahead, Robin.’ She sounded like her mind was on other things.

 

‘He’s eating people that cross him.’

 

‘I didn’t copy. Say again, Robin.’

 

‘He said “eating people”, O. Jones eats people.’ Nightwing cut in. ‘I’m out of ideas. How do I make a seven foot tall cannibal talk?’

 

‘Delicately?’

 

‘Wow. Thanks O. You’ve been helpful.’ Grayson’s voice was thick with friendly sarcasm.

 

_Lots of history there, I’ll bet._

 

‘Well, I guess you don’t find many situations you can’t punch your way out of.’ She laughed softly.

 

‘Not a laughing matter. Cannibal. Not funny.’

 

‘Try some detective work, Bat-boy.’

 

‘Wasn’t that your job?’

 

‘Would that I could.’ She said it as a joke, but he turned immediately sombre. The pause was long and awkward. Oracle broke it first.

 

‘Don’t worry about it. Just find out who the psycho works for.’

 

‘Will do, Oracle.’ He turned to Tim. ‘We’ll stake the place out. He has to leave some time, right.’

 

******

 

_He has to leave some time._

 

The words hung in Tim’s ears for the next week, whilst they stood watch over Jones’ warehouse. It was dangerous for him to move in daylight, they reasoned, so meeting with whoever pulled his strings would be a nocturnal affair. They laced the site with button cameras, allowing facial recognition and tracking to keep an extra set of “eyes” out.

 

On the eighth night, with no luck so far, they finally caught a break. A hulking figure in a business suit was sighted getting into a black sedan.

 

_Because mobsters love clichés._

 

Nightwing hit the car with a tracking dot, and the two gave chase. Keeping pace with the evening traffic was easy, and the only challenge presented was keeping out of sight. Oracle had impressed on him that they worked from the shadows. If that were completely true, Tim wouldn’t have found them, but he got the point. Under the radar was better.

 

Jones made no attempts to change cars, or lose tails. This was his turf, and he clearly felt safe. “The Croc” owned the north-side, so nobody talked. Their questioning locals had turned up almost nothing useful. He’d definitely grown in influence in the last six months. Everything in or out of the docks went through him. Someone big must have been backing him.

 

Jones disembarked, flanked by men barely trying to hide their sub-machineguns. They entered a non-descript office building and disappeared into an elevator. Tim watched through binoculars as the elevator display counted upwards. It stopped on the 13th floor. The windows across the whole floor were blacked out.

 

He and Nightwing took opposite ends of the building, and quickly found their way into the 14th floor windows. Tim came up in a small, vacant office. He lifted a water cooler aside and knocked a hasty hole in the floor. Lowering a microphone into the floor space above the next floor’s ceiling, he hoped he was on the right side of the building.

 

His hopes payed off, and his headset was filled with the smooth sound of Jones’ voice.

 

‘Oracle, are you receiving?’

 

‘Receiving and recording. Good job, Robin.’

 

‘-atman has behn snooping about. Two of his boys broke into my office. I set them a-running, but I do not appreciate drawing attention.’

 

‘Waylon, I understand your concerns.’ The second voice was gravelly, and calm. It showed no sign of intimidation in the presence of the giant. ‘But don’t you worry about no bats. Long as you’re thrown in with me, they’s nothing to worry about.’

 

‘Do ah look like a man that worries? Ah just don’t think it does us any favours to let them disrespect me like that. Next time, ah intend to kill them.’

 

‘You make sure you don’t do nothin’ stupid wit’out my say so. I worked hard to get you set up here. I don’t wanna lose that because you got hungry.’

 

‘Ah’ll do my best. Sir.’ The last word was spat with venom. Tim could feel the hate.

               

He heard doors closing and took his cue to leave. He scaled the building, back to their rooftop rendezvous point.  Nightwing cleared the rooftop at about the same time. He took his earpiece out, and gestured for Grayson to do the same. He did, and Tim took a deep breath.

 

‘We need to talk.’

 

‘Uh, are you breaking up with me?’ The older man grinned.

 

‘Stop it. This is serious. I need to tell you some things. But not here.

 

‘Okay. Are you alright?’

 

‘I assume you know where I live?’

 

Grayson raised an eyebrow.

 

‘Of course.’

 

‘Good. Meet me for lunch. Come alone. And dress normal.’

 

******

 

The cab rolled down the driveway, glare flickering from car’s windows flashing across Tim’s view. He leant lazily in the front doorway,

 

‘Jesus, Grayson, I said dress normal. You look like a cop.’ He looked pointedly at Dick’s blue jeans and white business shirt.

 

‘I am a cop.’ He playfully punched Tim in the stomach, and the two wandered through the foyer, towards the kitchen. ‘Your parents aren’t around today, I guess?’

 

‘I’ll get to that. Drink?’ He opened the fridge and took a soda from the top shelf. Grayson shook his head as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

 

Tim leant against the kitchen counter, and sipped his drink.

 

‘It’s not that I wanna cut Oracle out. But this is sensitive.’

 

‘Okay, just between us.’  He couldn’t put his finger on it, but somehow Tim knew that he could trust Dick.

 

‘I know who Jones is working for. He calls himself Black Mask. He has a gimmick. Wears a burned wooden mask.’ Tim paused and let himself grin slightly. ‘Its black.’

 

‘I’ve heard of him. Runs most of the drug trade, ever since the Mafiosi cleared out. Seems like a wacko.’

 

‘That’s the one. Sprung up after the Joker.’ He sat on a chair across from Dick.

 

‘What makes you think he’s behind it?’

 

‘My mom is Janette Drake. The politician. She was kidnapped a little while back. Dad too. Every couple of weeks, I get a DVD delivered to the house. It’s usually just sound files. Someone is torturing my parents. A man, calling himself Black Mask. Demanding money, ransom. Last night I recognised the voice.’

 

‘Tim…’

 

‘Black Mask has my parents, and he’s got Jones on a leash. You’ve gotta help me.’

 

‘And Oracle?’

 

‘We’ll tell her what she needs to know.’ He knew that bringing in too many people endangered his mother. Her life was his priority, not Oracle’s feelings.

 

‘Okay. We can keep it to ourselves.’ Dick grimaced.

 

Tim could tell he didn’t like the idea of lying to Oracle. They sat quietly for a few minutes, and Dick was the first to break the silence.

 

‘So your folks aren’t around, huh? We should go out and grab some food. You like Big Belly Burger?’


	9. Dick Grayson

# 

**The kid had put a lot of faith in him.** Which was great. Trust was good. But it was a lot of pressure too. Dick lost his parents when as a kid, he wasn’t going to let that happen to Tim. After the Black Mask breakthrough, he’d given Robin the night off. The kid needed to rest. He was working hard, but at this rate he’d burn out.

 

_Jason all over again._

 

The Police scanner babbled in his ear as Dick flung himself from building to building. He’d picked up the trail a few blocks back and now his runaway murder suspect was slowing down. He could see a violet cape trailing behind the perp as they ran.

 

_Great. Give the rest of us a bad name._

 

He was gaining ground slowly. The perp was good, skillfully navigating the city rooftops. But, as was often the case, Dick was better. He whipped a bola out of his belt and flung it at the perp’s legs with brutal accuracy. Cables lashed around her boots, and she fell struggling. Dick sprinted, trying to cover the gap before she could recover.

 

She managed to roll onto her back. Dick took stock, measuring her up for the ensuing fist fight. She was tall and slender, her body sheathed in a black bodysuit not unlike his own. Her hair was long and dark, pulled back so that it trailed down over the back of her cape. Her boots and gauntlets were armoured, and the same purple as her cape. A domino mask obscured her face, showing only slight hints of her dark complexion. A pair of pistols sat snugly in holsters on her belt.

 

She flicked a knife out of her belt, and started sawing at the nano-fibre cables. The cable snapped, and she kicked out as Nightwing approached, an armoured boot clipped his chest. He eased back as she kicked to her feet. At her full height she looked dangerous.

 

‘Back off, I haven’t got time for you.’

 

‘You’re not going anywhere.’ He pulled his escrima free of their holsters.

 

‘You’re wasting my time. He’s getting away.’

 

‘You’re gonna try telling me you’re-’

 

Apparently fed up with the conversation, her hands fell to her pistols. As she drew them, Nightwing saw that they weren’t firearms at all. She squeezed the triggers and the crossbows each launched a bolt. He moved to the side, trying to duck out of the way, but one of the bolts slammed into his chest. There was an electrical hiss, and the taser-point discharged. He collapsed on the floor and struggled to find his feet. He watched as the purple cape disappeared over rooftops.

 

Head spinning, vision cloudy, Nightwing clambered to his feet.  He thumbed his communicator, and waited for Oracle to pick up on the other end.

 

‘Oracle, I need you to find me someone moving… east… Columbia… Riverside. Purple Cape.’

 

‘You doing okay, Nightwing?’

 

‘Fine. Just find her.’

 

‘New girlfriend?’

 

‘Har har. Got anything?’

 

‘I’ve piggybacked the surveillance blimp in the area. Scrubbing footage. Found her. She’s moving along the bridge to Burnley. Looks like her hardware is pretty good.’

 

‘Thanks, O.’

 

He drew his grapple and started his pursuit. The victim was a woman. Russian. Cause of death: multiple gun shots to the chest. She’d taken a beating. The cops arrived and found the purple cape standing over the body. She took off when they arrived. But it didn’t make sense now. She didn’t have handguns, she had crossbows. The killer used handguns.

 

_Maybe she wasn’t lying?_

The traffic was backed up as Nightwing leapt from the back of the truck, and grappled from girder to girder. The rushing of wind across the river and the feeling of free fall between swings was exhilarating, and by the time he reached the front of the jam, he was almost feeling better. He perched above the expanse of cars. Police were trying to make their way between the traffic without much success.

 

‘Oracle, caught her up. Hope I’m not too late. Have you got eyes on the bridge?’ She had a man by the scruff of the neck. He was wearing a cheap, tattered suit, spattered in blood. Three cars were smashed together, blocking the bridge.

 

‘Copy that, Boy Wonder. Looking right at her. Break a leg. Hers, I guess.’

 

‘Heading in, going dark.’

 

He launched himself towards the pileup, slowing his decent with a jump line. He landed on the roof of one of the wrecks and slipped his grapple back onto his belt. She threw her quarry across the asphalt, and shouted something he couldn’t make out over the wind and traffic.

 

‘Let him go!’ She didn’t seem to be able to hear him either.

 

He fired off a flurry of wing-dings which bit into her cape and arm guard. She dropped the man, and spun to face Nightwing, drawing her crossbows as she turned.

 

‘Alright, I’ve worked out you were telling the truth. You didn’t kill that woman. And I gather this creep probably did.’

 

‘Some detective work. Well done.’ Her fingers looked twitchy on the triggers.

 

‘You can’t just kill him though. That makes you as bad as he is.’

 

‘He’s a dog. He destroyed that girl. He needs to be put down.’

 

‘That’s for the courts to decide.’

 

‘You actually trust the corrupt bureaucracy? You’re dumber than I thought, pretty boy.’

 

‘You think I’m pretty?’ He smirked and leapt forward, trying to put himself between her and her victim. She didn’t move the crossbows, keeping them level with the man’s chest. Her eyes seemed to stare through Nightwing’s chest.

 

‘I’m not letting him get away. Black Mask’s people get a free pass in this city, and I’m not going to let it continue.’

 

‘Let me help you,’ Dick raised his hands, trying to calm her, ‘I know how to make it stick. He’ll be locked up.’

 

She saw a window and fired a bolt. It buried itself into the man’s leg. He screamed and growled and cried.

 

‘Alright. I’ll play it your way. But if I see him back on the streets, he’s dead.’ She slipped her crossbows into their thigh holsters, ‘Follow me, and you’re dead.’

 

She turned, as if to walk away, but then paused.

 

‘You work with the Bat?’

 

‘What’s it to you?’

 

She shrugged and took off at a run. She fired a grappling gun high into the bridge’s tower, and disappeared into the low hanging clouds. Nightwing made in the other direction, quickly scaling the frame of the bridge before he drew the attention of the police.

 

‘Oracle. Get in to the Police server. Make sure this lunatic doesn’t get off. You can change his record, or something, right?’

 

‘Copy that. How do you think she knows you’re with us?’

 

_Oh, it’s us now?_

 

‘She’s done her homework, I guess. Made sure she knew the local players before she got into the game, maybe?’

 

‘I guess so. Sun’ll be up soon, bat-boy. Call it a night?’

 

‘Yeah.’ He sat perched, watching the horizon for a minute, before making his way off the bridge.

 

He paused for a breather not far from his old Burnley apartment, near the Bowery. He’d kept up the rent payments, in case he needed somewhere to hideout if he ever came back. The sun peak across the horizon.

 

‘Barb, are yo-‘

 

‘No names in the field.’

 

‘Oracle, then. And I guess you are still there.’

 

‘Yeah, I was watching you home.’

 

‘I was gonna… Uh… I mean…’

 

_Do you wanna get breakfast? Is that so hard? Spit it out, Grayson._

 

‘Spit it out, Boy Wonder.’

 

‘I guess it doesn’t matter.’ He started moving again, running from one building to the next fire escape.

 

‘Dick. D’ya wanna get breakfast?’

 

He smiled to himself.

 

‘No names in the field.’

 

‘Shuddup. Coffee house across the road from my building?’

 

‘Sounds great.’

 

He slipped in the still unlocked window of his old apartment. He'd left the window open; there was no point locking it. On the 23rd floor nobody would get in that wouldn't find it easier to kick the door in. Even then, there was nothing in this apartment worth stealing. Dick enjoyed minimalist living. It was a tiny space. The kitchen was almost non-existent, and there was barely enough room to house a couch and kitchen table.

It was exactly as he’d left it, aside from an added layer of dust. He spied an old bottle of milk on the coffee table, and counted back the months since he’d left town.

 

_Eight? Nine? That’s not good._

“How can we fight for these people if we live in a different world?” He’d half asked, half argued with Bruce when he bought the unit. The apartment was fairly central, only a block from Main Street in Burnley. The ground floor of the building was a great little delicatessen run by an old woman Dick did odd jobs for.

 

What else could I need?

 

He crouched through the window and stepped softly into the living room. Stripping out of his armour quickly, he opened the catch inside his wardrobe. A rack slid out, covered in armour, wing-dings, grapple guns, spare masks, and various gadgets he hadn't yet figured out. He quickly rearranged his gear onto the rack, and pressed it back into the wall. He heard a thrum as the steam jets inside the compartment cleaned his suit.

 

He pulled on a pair of shorts that he found on the floor, sprung himself onto the sofa and turned on the TV. As the cartoon cat chased the bird around the living room, Dick retrieved a box of frosty flakes from the floor, and smiled as he shoved handfuls into his mouth.

 

He loved this cartoon. Life was good.

 

******

 

‘How are you possibly going to eat all that?’ Barbara raised an eyebrow, looking skeptically at the plate of scrambled eggs, sausages and toast stacked unbelievably high in front of him.

 

‘Long night.’

 

‘Yeah, I guess getting your butt kicked works up an appetite.’ She grinned cheekily.

 

The smell of coffee, butter and bacon made Dick feel alive. He felt good for the first time in weeks, so he let her comment go without reply. They sat outside a small café, the morning sun glinting from the windows of cars and buildings as the city woke up. Shoveling eggs into his mouth with a piece of toast, he looked up and saw her still smiling.

 

‘It’s good to be back.’ He managed, through the food.

 

‘Oh, you’re moving back to Gotham?’

 

‘I haven’t told work. But I miss the old town. And the old friends.’

 

‘What about Blüdhaven?’ She took a sip of tea and inspected her blueberry muffin.

 

‘Am sh thll b-‘ he spluttered. She cut him off with a familiar raise of an eyebrow. He swallowed. ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine. Not that much action down there, anyway.’

 

‘And this has nothing to do with your new brunette?’

 

Dick felt his face begin to flush. Trained police officer and certified adult, yet Barbara made him feel like a schoolboy with a crush.

 

‘Nothing at all.’

 

‘Good. Bruce is furious. Wants her “out of my city!”’ She put on her best Batman voice.

 

‘She’s pretty good. I thought we might be able to bring her on board. I mean, seeing how we’re recruiting.’

 

‘We’re not recruiting. Tim’s a special case.’ She took another sip of tea. ‘And he’s right. Bruce isn’t stable right now. He needs us.’

 

Dick slurped on his milkshake, and started sopping up sauce and oil with his remaining bread. He nodded.

 

‘I’m glad you’re back, Dick.’

 

Her smile was warm, and took him back to their years as Batgirl and Robin. He was an instant away from replying, when her face dropped.

 

‘Why’d you leave? Right when I needed you most, you were gone.’

 

He frowned, and stared at the table.

 

_Why? Guilt. Pain._

‘I don’t blame you. I know Bruce gave you a hard time. I just want to understand you.’

 

‘It wasn’t Bruce. Not really. He was upset after we lost Jason. I know he didn’t mean the things he said.’

 

‘Then what?’ She pulled a face, confused.

 

‘I guess I couldn’t face you. I felt like I’d let you down.’

 

Her face turned from concerned to angry.

 

‘You couldn’t face me? I was lying in a hospital bed for weeks, and nobody could tell me if I’d ever walk again! I needed you, I needed your friendship. But you never came.’ Tears began to well in her eyes.

 

_Barbara, I love you._

The words stuck in his throat.

 

‘I thought we were in love.’ She always could read his mind.

 

‘You’re right. I should have been there to look after you.’

 

‘What, I couldn’t look after myself? I didn’t need you to look after me. I needed you to care. To be there. Alfred smuggled me cakes and cookies. Bruce visited. But the one person I wanted was nowhere to be seen.’ Her eyes flared as she pushed her hair back with her hand.

 

_Now you’ve done it. Well done, Grayson._

 

‘Babs, I didn’t mean-’

 

‘You didn’t mean what? That I’m helpless? Need you to take care of me?’ She was angry. ‘This was a bad idea. I’ve got to go.’ She shifted her chair, wheeling slowly away from the café. He called after her, but she didn’t look back.

 

Dick lent back in his chair, watching clouds dance between buildings. Maybe Bruce had been right.

 

Maybe he didn’t belong in Gotham anymore.


	10. Tim Drake

**In theory the plan was simple enough.** If Bruce got himself in trouble, Dick would enter from the sewer tunnels under the building. Meanwhile, Tim’s job was to draw the majority of the fire power to the front of the building.

 

‘Murder, gun running, extortion. Waylon Jones is a thug.’ Oracle sat in front of her monitors, the blue glow of the screens tinting her stoic features. ‘His hideout is a fortress. You’ve rattled him.’

 

‘Yeah, I’m sure we terrified the giant cannibal man.’ Dick smiled.

 

‘At any rate, Bruce has decided that he can’t let Jones go any longer.’ Barbara replied. ‘He told me to stay out of it, but he’s clearly not in the best shape.’

 

‘Got it, keep the old man alive.’ Dick laughed, but the tension stayed. ‘What could go wrong?’

 

******

 

‘Oracle, eyes on him?’

 

‘Below you, across from the warehouse.’

 

Nightwing crouched on the end of the crane boom. He was still despite the buffeting rain and wind. Robin crouched a few feet behind him, scanning the area below. He saw The Batman, perched on the half built building their crane was working on.

 

‘It’s more heavily fortified than I’d anticipated.’ The growl over the comms took Tim by surprise. The voice was angry. Sharp. ‘Oracle, I’m not impressed that you put on a tail on me, but we can discuss that later.’

 

‘We both know that you need their help. You can’t do this alone.’ She fired back.

 

He replied with a non-verbal, but seemingly affirmative growl.

 

 A handful of blasting charges went off under a van parked near to the door of the warehouse. The van flipped in a fiery mess. Men swarmed from the building, guns raised and ready. Batman disappeared from the ledge.

 

‘Get inside.’ He hissed over the comms. ‘We need something solid to pin on Jones, otherwise he’ll walk.’

 

Flash powder danced and cracked to life across the loading dock. The gunmen all started and turned. 

 

Robin fired his grapple to the edge of the warehouse and swung down below the loading door. Nightwing landed behind him a moment later.

 

‘That’s a lot of guns, boss. Don’t get yourself killed.’

 

‘Focus.’

 

Tim almost had to laugh. Fighting by Batman’s side was the culmination of so many dreams, but at the same time he was terrified. The Dark Knight wasn’t the hero of the people he had imagined. He was dark. Cold. But Dick seemed used to it. Comfortable even. It was a surreal experience.

 

They fired grapples into the rafters and disappeared into the darkness. From high above the ground Robin could see half a dozen men armed with nasty looking M4 assault rifles. They were wearing flak vests; one wore night vision goggles. They were tightly packed, alert, and not moving. Exactly the sort of group Nightwing had taught him to avoid. They were set up in the only path to the freezer section, blocking the damaged door he and Nightwing had breached previously.

 

‘Lots of firepower in here.’ Nightwing muttered.

 

‘Handle it.’ Batman’s reply was barely a whisper.

 

Tim had talked his way onto the team by convincing them that Batman’s exhaustion and obstinance were going to get someone killed. He hoped that tonight wasn’t the night.

 

Robin threw pellets at the group, filling the room with plumes of smoke. Nightwing leapt forward and disappeared into the shroud. Robin dropped off after him and darted into the smoke. He flicked a switch on his mask as he ran forward, his vision swapping to infrared. Spotting the nearest mook, he lashed out into a kick. His boot connected with the man’s jaw. The mook fell with a soft grunt. Robin quickly positioned himself behind another. He grappled the thug to the ground, legs pulling his trigger hand clear of the firearm whilst his armoured gauntlets closed around the thug’s throat. He felt the man go limp and grabbed for his bō. He swatted at another man’s assault rifle, knocking the weapon to the ground. Nightwing had dispatched the other three in similarly efficient fashion, and circled behind the last man. He dodged a punch effortlessly, then brought the mook to the ground with a shoulder throw. Robin knelt beside the man and knocked him out cold with a swift punch.

 

‘Alright. Move.’ Nightwing pushed forward through the office and into the freezer.

 

The air was warmer than Robin expected, the walls and floors dripping puddles over the floor. They moved quietly, taking cover behind a steadily melting pile of boxes. A figure stood in the centre of the room, his shoulders tensing slightly as he noticed their entrance. Waylon Jones was discouraging large. He was naked from the waste up, his shirt and jacket discarded on his desk, his muscled frame was covered in scars. He leant his head to one side, then the other, stretching his impressive neck muscles before letting out a deep, chilling laugh.

 

‘Ah, the Batman finally comes to visit.’ He turned and screwed up his nose. ‘Or am Ah not worth ‘is time?’

 

Nightwing threw a bola, the cable snapping around Jones’ torso, pinning his arms to his side. The man turned as he fell, and quickly began to wriggle free. Robin leapt forward to deliver a knockout blow, but Jones was faster. He let out a shout and flexed his giant arms. The cable snapped and he brushed the blow aside lazily. He sprung to his feet and tore free of the remainder of the cable. Robin unleashed a kick at his knee, but the man dodged aside. Nightwing unleashed a flurry of blows, but they seemed little more than an annoyance to the giant. Robin hurled a small flashbang at the goon’s head. The blast staggered his opponent, and Nightwing took the opening. He snatched up a nearby fire extinguisher and smashed the cylinder into the giant man’s face. Jones slumped to the ground silently.

 

Robin ran to Jones’ desk. He jimmied the lock and rifled the drawers, grabbing at anything that might be an important ledger or notebook. He rolled them tightly and slipped them into a pouch at he back of his belt.

 

‘Alright, let’s go.’ Nightwing sounded out of breath. Panicked. This was bad, Dick didn’t do panicked. ‘I don’t wanna be here when he-’

 

Robin turned sharply to see Jones holding Nightwing by the throat.

 

‘Batman, we need backup!’ He shouted.

 

‘Nightwing, your vitals are spiking. Are you guys okay?’ Oracles voice was level; she was adept at keeping her cool.

 

Robin dashed forward, dropping into a baseball slide under Jones’ legs. He came to his feet behind the giant thug and swung his bō at the thug’s right knee. Jones shouted angrily as the blow connected. He threw Nightwing at the ground and spun to backhand Robin. Robin hit the ground hard, pain spreading through his chest.

 

Probably broken ribs. Damnit.

 

‘Shoulda stayed at ‘ome, liddle bird.’ Jones stood over Robin baring his sharp, pointed teeth.

 

He crouched and reached his right arm back. Tim felt his heartbeat in his throat as the giant’s hand clenched into a fist.

 

Not a moment later, Batman hit Jones in the chest with a flying kick. The giant staggered back and howled with rage. He jumped forward, swinging his meaty fists. Batman darted backwards, then sprung forward. He threw flashpowder in Jones’ face, and followed through with a wild right hook. Jones fell backwards, onto his back. Batman landed on top of his chest. He jabbed quickly at the giant’s face again and again.

 

Robin clambered to his feet, and ran to Dick. Nightwing was awake, and Robin helped him up. Batman’s jabs turned into full punches and Robin heard the sickening crack of Jones’ jaw breaking.

 

‘He’s out, boss.’ Nightwing shouted as he moved to Batman’s side. ‘Stop!’

 

Batman wasn’t listening. He was breathing heavily and bleeding from a bullet wound to his shoulder.

 

‘Bruce, stop!’ Nightwing shouted again. He grabbed Batman’s shoulders, trying to haul the older man off.

 

‘Get off me!’ Batman roared. He lashed out at Nightwing with a merciless punch. Nightwing fell to the ground and Batman leapt forward, hammering at Dick’s armoured body. Robin heard cracking as Nightwing’s armour strained. He tried to cry out, but the pain radiating from his ribs robbed him of his breath.

 

‘Bruce!’ Oracle shouted. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

 

Batman’s next blow missed Dick’s chest, smashing into the concrete floor. He pulled away, looking at his bloodied gauntlets.

 

‘What have I-’ He hissed, looking down at his former apprentice.

 

Tim took a step towards them, but Batman pushed past him, running hard with his head down. Dick’s breathing was laboured, and his mouth was full of blood.

 

Tim knew he had to get Nightwing clear, but the larger man was going to be difficult to move. Especially with the police probably blocking the exit by now. No way could he carry Nightwing out that way.

 

‘Come on, man. Let’s get you out of here.’ Tim hoisted Nightwing to his feet. He half carried, half dragged him the length of the freezer and set him down by the door.

 

‘Oracle, let Cave know we’ll need him.’

 

‘Copy. He’s okay, right?’

 

‘Stable for now.’

 

‘You’ll have to get him out through the sewer tunnels.’

 

‘Copy. I’ll meet you at Rendezvous Beta.’

 

******

 

Dragging Nightwing through the tunnels would’ve a chore, and thankfully Dick regained consciousness pretty quickly. When they found their way back to the Clock Tower, Oracle and Alfred were surprised to see him on his feet. They settled him on a bed in the medical bay, and Alfred dosed him with a sedative. Once he was out, the ex-army medic began a full examination. Tim stripped of his uniform and moved back to the computer banks, where he finally got to sit down.

 

‘Have we heard from Batman?’

 

‘Not yet.’ She leant back in her chair; her face betrayed her concern. ‘You handled yourself well. Well done.’

 

‘Thanks, Oracle.’

 

‘Call me Barbara.’ She smiled, and he felt himself start to slip.

 

‘Nice to meet you.’ Tim yawned, then fell asleep.

 

******

 

He woke to Batman closing the roof hatch and falling to the floor. He clambered to his feet and staggered to the medical bay. Removing his cowl , he dropped it unceremoniously to the floor.

 

‘Oh good, you’re awake.’ Oracle turned from her computer. ‘Those ledgers you picked up, goldmine. They prove that Jones was working for Falcone. Whoever took over when the Roman went down most likely kept him on the payroll.’

 

Tim realised that he’d been moved to a gurney of his own. He tugged an IV from his arm and winced through the pain in his chest.

 

‘Three cracked ribs.

 

‘And Jones?’

 

‘In police custody. They picked up more than a dozen of his enforcers. It’s a big hit.’

 

‘It almost wasn’t worth it.’ Tim glanced over at the medical bay doors. ‘If I’d been…’

 

‘You did your best. That’s all we can ask. Dick knew what he was doing.’ Barbara removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose between a finger and thumb. She sighed as she replaced them. ‘He’s banged up, but he’ll be okay.’

 

The medical door slid open. Bruce walked through first, Alfred close behind.

 

‘-concussion and bruising is the worst of it. No lasting damage. He’ll be fine with rest.’ Alfred explained.

 

‘I did this.’ Bruce had a pained expression on his face.

 

‘Bruce,’ Oracle started, ‘what happened to you?’

 

‘I...’ He bowed his head. ‘Oracle. I need a break. Once Nightwing is back on his feet. Between the two of you, and Robin…’

 

‘Bruce, its fine. We’ll take care of your city.’

 

‘I know. It’s in good hands.’ He moved roughly, clearly in pain, as he picked up his mask and set it back over his face.

 

‘What ever is going on, you know we’re here for you.’ Barbara tried to smile through the tears in her eyes.

 

‘I know.’ He whispered as he scaled the ladder to the hatch and disappeared into the night.


	11. Dick Grayson

**_Roll_ ** _._

_She’ll go right._

_Spring left._

_Find Cover._

The jump line retracted to his belt, and his legs collapsed in a practiced fall, rolling to reduce momentum. He found his feet and quickly darted to the left, behind an air conditioning vent. She moved right, sliding behind the supports to a water tower. The spotlight swept the rooftop as the Police helicopter hovered loudly. Wind kicked up around them, and she took hold of her cape, stopping the flapping fabric from away her position.

 

_Score one for team no-cape._

The nearest blimp was streets away, and the chopper gave up. GCPD had only started their pursuit out of habit; they weren’t actually criminals. Not in the traditional sense anyway. Technically, wearing a mask and cape and running about the rooftops was a felony under Mayor Sionis’s “Vigilante Ban”. But they weren’t criminals. Dick stood up and wiped his brow with his arm. The chase across Burnley had tested them, but it looked like she’d managed almost as well as he had.

 

But Dick was sure now:  She could be one of them. She’d stayed her hand. She had let the man live. Oracle had lived up to their end, and it looked like the goon was going to be in Black Gate for the rest of his natural life. Everything had been going smoothly. Until about three minutes ago.

 

‘You broke my concentration, and gave away my position. What the hell were you thinking?’ She jumped to her feet, fuming.

 

‘I gave away your position? You’re wearing bright purple! Besides, what were you staking out? Town Hall?’

 

‘None of your business. I don’t need you screwing up my operation.’

 

‘Oh, it’s an operation now?’

 

She turned to walk away, but Dick reached for her shoulder. She caught his arm, and twisted. He rolled his body with the turn, yanking his arm from her grip. He put the momentum into a backhanded strike, which she blocked with both forearms.

 

_She’s good._

 

He jabbed at her chest, and she parried, slapping his fists away with precision.  She fired a kick at his legs and he skipped backwards with less than an inch to spare.

 

‘I just want to help you.’

 

‘What makes you think I need _your_ help?’ She was probably right. In truth, he wanted her help, but would never let her know that.

 

‘The other night, you mentioned Black Mask. He’s on our list too. Are you sure you don’t wanna compare notes?’

 

‘I’ll make you a deal, pretty boy. If we help each other, when we find Black Mask, I get to kill him.’ She snarled. Dick was suddenly unsure. He knew all too well what a hunt for vengeance did to a person.

 

‘You can’t kill him.’

 

‘Those are my terms.’ She turned away from him again. ‘Take it or leave it. Black Mask has the entire force of the old Falcone Family behind him.’

 

_That’s interesting._

 

‘Exactly. How do you expect to catch him on your own?’

 

‘Don’t worry.’ She turned and straightened her cape. She looked back over her shoulder. ‘The Huntress always gets her man.’

 

Dick stayed silent, and she walked away.

 

_That was pretty damn cool._

 

‘Nightwing. Are you on channel?’ Oracle. He’d tried to call her a few times after their breakfast, and she hadn’t answered.

 

‘Copy, Oracle. What’s up?’

 

‘Need you at the Tower. Asap.’ Cold. Clinical.

 

‘Copy.’

 

He missed the old days.

 

******

 

After his parent’s death, Bruce and Alfred had been the closes thing Dick had to parents. It hurt to see him in such bad shape, almost as much as the beating he’d taken. But he knew that hadn’t been Bruce. He’d seen it before. Some nights, The Batman took over. Some nights, in his thirst for justice, or more often vengeance, he pushed himself too hard. Such nights had been alarmingly more frequent since Jason.

 

_Maybe Tim is on to something._

 

The last time Bruce had acted out this much, he had been too late to rescue a family from the clutches of a serial killer. He’d pieced the evidence together and identified the monster responsible, but by the time he found the disgraced doctor’s lair, he’d already killed again. Or so Dick had pieced together. Karl Hellfern had been before Dick’s time, and not an experience that Bruce or Alfred liked to talk about.

 

Thinking that he needed an edge, Bruce replicated one Hellfern’s chemicals: A performance enhancing steroid compound called Venom. It had taken him months to realise that the venom was doing more harm than good, and then several more to kick the addiction. By the time Dick first donned a mask and took to the streets by Batman's side, Bruce was back to his peak, and the two kept each other grounded. 

 

Alfred had always seemed more troubled by the threat of relapse than Bruce. He was Batman, he could get through it. But Alfred’s demeanor after the raid on Jones’ base had confirmed it for Dick. Bruce had been using. It was the subtleties that gave it away; more about what Alfred didn’t say. He didn’t tell Bruce that The Batman was out of control. He didn’t judge, and he didn’t snark. He was supportive and forgiving. What Bruce needed now was support, not a reminder that he had been wrong.

 

Last time, Alfred told him once, Bruce sealed himself in the cave for two months. Only when he was sure he’d kicked the addiction did he resurface. This time, he wasn’t leaving the city to fend for itself, so he could take his time. Alfred had suggested that they could utilize Bruce’s time away to build his image as a playboy socialite and check him in to a legitimate rehab facility, but Oracle had reminded him that Bruce Wayne and Batman couldn’t both disappear for an extended period of time. Besides, Dick had added, what would the Wayne Enterprises Board of Directors think! In the end, Alfred resolved to keep Bruce Wayne maintaining his day to day routine, and The Batman out of the picture for the time being.

 

******

 

Dick dropped through the hatch, and it snapped shut behind him.

 

‘About time, Grayson.’ Barbara’s voice was flat and cold. All the warmth he was used to hearing from her was gone.

 

‘Yeah, sorry. There was a thing with some carjackers. What’s up?’

 

‘I told Oracle about my parents.’ Tim looked like a weight had been lifted.

 

‘I understand your decision to keep it to yourselves. But this intersects with a case I’ve been working for a while. You hit a dead end because you were working with half the picture.’ Oracle turned back to face her computer monitors. ‘Black Mask. It’s Roman Sionis. He's bad news, so I've called in a favour.’

 

Dick noticed the masked woman leaning against Barbara’s towering computer. Tall, blonde, armoured. He knew her by reputation.

 

The Black Canary.


	12. Barbara Gordon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW - Graphic depiction of violence after second break.

**After seemingly endless nights, their patience finally paid off.**  Batgirl stood wearily, watching the same building they’d been staking out for nearly a week. A short balding man entered the building. Mayor Hamilton Hill. She thumbed her communicator and waited for the static to clear.

 

‘Canary, Mayor Hill just entered Sionis’ building.’

 

‘Keep an eye out. He must be up to something. Good news, though. My source at the Department of City Planning finally came through. Confirmed that Sionis owns the building.’

 

‘Great. Now we just need to find out what he’s up to. Any ideas?’

 

‘None. But a meeting with Hill doesn’t sound good. I’ll be there to back you up soon.’

 

By the time Canary arrived, the street was a hive of activity. Enforcers lined the streets as a half dozen black sedans pulled up in front of the building. Two men dragged a short man between them, a black bag over his head.

 

‘That’s gotta be Hill.’ Barbara pulled a set of binoculars from her belt and quickly focused on the man. ‘The suit matches. It’s him. We’ve gotta save him!’ She stood up, pushing her binoculars back into their pouch, and going for her grapple.

 

‘Slow down, B. If we go down there now, they’ll shoot us full of holes before we hit the ground.’ She put a hand on Barbara’s shoulder. ‘We’ve gotta play this smart.’

 

The convoy of cars peeled off, heading north. Batgirl and Canary followed. The cars made no obvious attempt to lose any tails. Sionis was cocky. The duo followed easily across the bridge to Burnley, but hung back as they approached the Bayside docks. The buildings started to thin out, and moving without being seen became a chore.

 

The convoy stopped by an old cold-storage warehouse, and the army of mooks dragged Hill into the warehouse. He was limp, probably knocked out.

 

‘Okay, we can take them. We’ve gotta get him out!’

 

‘No. There’s no safe way in. We need surveillance until they loosen up a bit.’

 

******

 

Barbara sighed, and stirred a third teaspoon of sugar into her tea. The evening news team were staking out City Hall, and bringing minute by minute coverage of the Mayor’s disappearance.

 

_Which would be fine, if they knew anything._

 

Her dad, sitting on the couch closer to the TV, let out a scarily similar sigh.

‘Thanks for dinner, honey.’ He heaved himself to his feet. ‘Back to the grindstone.’

 

With the Mayor missing for three days now; the GCPD were all putting in overtime, her dad included. She’d wanted to tip them to his location, but Canary was convinced that Sionis had men inside the force. They’d move him before the police could get there, she thought. That was assuming he was still alive. At this stage, they had no way of knowing. There hadn’t been a ransom demand yet. And nobody knew about his meet with Sionis. He’d told his staff he was heading home.

 

‘Dad.’

 

‘Yeah, hon?’

 

‘Be careful.’

 

‘I will. I love you.’ He smiled from behind his slowly greying moustache, and slipped into a long beige trenchcoat.

 

‘I love you too.’ She replied

 

Once his car left was safely down the street, Barbara abandoned her flannel pyjamas and fluffy slippers for kevlar and leather.

 

******

She moved quietly across the suburban sprawl of the West Village, ducking from roof to roof. She made a mental note to look into the logistics of getting a motorcycle. Surely that would make getting around easier.

 

She linked up with Canary block or so out, and the made their way to the top of the building with as much stealth as they could manage. They found a skylight, which peered down into a cluttered office. A man in a slate blue suit sat at a desk below them. The room was small and well lit, so it wouldn’t be an ideal point of entry. Barbara had seen his face hundreds of times on the news. That chiseled jaw, and angular nose could only belong to one man.

 

Roman Sionis.

 

Canary snapped a photo with her micro camera. Once they got Hill to safety, her plan was to plant the camera on him and leave him for the police. There was enough evidence on the memory card to get Sionis locked away from a long time.

 

Sionis’ phone rang and he growled a few replies before slamming the handset down. He opened a desk drawer and retrieved a black, wooden disk. He held it to his face and slipped a narrow leather strap around the back of his head. The mask sat in place, and Sionis left the room, tucking a large pistol into the back of his waistband. With the mask and three-piece suit, he was truly an imposing figure.

 

The door smacked shut, and Canary laughed under her breath. Barbara laid the corner of her cape across the window pane and gave it a sharp jab with her elbow. The glass cracked and fell quietly onto the carpet below. Batgirl and Canary followed. Canary motioned to follow her as she darted to the door. Barbara followed, ducking below the long window which looked out over the loading docks. It was empty, save for one guard. Even though he was looking the other way, it didn’t hurt to be careful. Canary inspected the door handle carefully for a moment, and then slowly worked it open. She peeked out and, seeing the coast was clear, swung it open. Steel stairs wound down the wall to the ground floor. It was deserted.

 

_Canary was right to wait._

 

They descended the stairs slowly, careful not to make noise enough to be noticed. Barbara could feel her heart beat in her throat. Her hands shook with every beat. She clenched her fists and tried to remember to breath.

 

The stairway opened into the loading zone, where the solitary, oblivious guard stood watch over the incoming road. The duo ducked from the dock, quickly into the ground floor office. A man had his back to the door as they entered, closing a heavy freezer door. His assault rifle hung from a shoulder strap, dangling uselessly by his side. Before he could turn, Canary was behind him. She tapped his shoulder playfully. He turned to face her, hands moving for his gun. She drove her elbow into his throat, and followed through with a solid left hook to the jaw. He went down without a sound.

 

The cold storage is a great place for a hostage. The heavy insulation made the room virtually soundproof. It was massive, a giant storage structure with smaller walk-in freezer units lining the walls. The main room’s cooling was turned off, so it was almost a comfortable temperature. Near the far wall, Mayor Hill sat tied to a chair. Two thugs flanked him, whilst Roman Sionis barked demands from behind his dark wooden mask.

 

The smaller freezers whirred obnoxiously, trying frantically to compensate for the extra work. Barbara could tell Sionis was taking, but couldn’t make out a word.

 

Before they could react, Sionis levelled his pistol at Hill’s temple and blew him away. A mess of blood and brain matter showered the mook to the left. The big man didn’t even flinch.

 

Before she knew what she was doing, Barbara broke cover and charged. She hurled shurikens at the mooks, and drew a taser from her belt. Canary, clearly not expecting the sudden action, stood shocked for a moment. As Barbara drew close to Sionis, he planted his feet and clobbered her with the butt of his pistol. The punch hit her like a bucking horse. She slumped to the ground, vision hazy with tears and pain.

 

Realising her obvious mistake, she quickly scanned the room for other gunmen, and was surprised that there weren’t any. Apparently the murder of a public official was a private affair.

 

Canary charged forward and drove the mooks back with a flurry of blows and slid to Barbara’s side. The younger girl’s shouts of protest ignored as Sionis fell back through the office. Barbara looked at the headless body still lashed to the chair. The mess that was his head oozed blood, and she threw up. Before she had time to compose herself, Sionis  stormed forward, spraying wildly with an assault rifles. Canary dragged Barbara to her feet and they stumbled into the cover of a freezer. What was left of Hamilton Hill was reduced to a bloody pulp as bullets tore into everything. A shot flicked across Barbara’s back. The Kevlar of her suit prevented a penetrating hit, but it felt like she’d been hit with a sledgehammer. She cried out, and pulled the door closed. The cold air burned her lungs. Canary let out a resigned sigh. There was no way out, but the way they came.

 

‘Alright, I got one trick left. But it’ll be rough. It should put them down long enough for us to get out.’

 

‘What? Why didn’t you-’

 

‘It’s a combination Sonic Bang and EMP.’ She explained, gesturing to a small disk no bigger than a billiard ball attached to her belt, near the buckle. ‘Knocks out everything electronic within 30 feet. Including itself, our camera, and all your fancy tech.’

 

‘So it’s a last resort.’ Barbara nodded.

 

‘There’ll be no time for Hill. We hit it, and then we run.’

 

Barbara nodded again, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Canary reached into a pouch at her waist and produced a pair of nondescript earplugs. She offered them on an open hand, and Barbara slipped them under her cowl, into her ears.

 

‘Sonic filters.’ Canary announced. ‘They contract at over one hundred decibels. So gunfire, or my screech shouldn’t bother you.’

 

‘Fancy.’ Barbara coughed.

 

Canary hauled the door open, let out a shout and leapt forward. She punched the device on her belt. A sudden wave of shrill, supersonic energy filled the room. Sionis collapsed, doubled over in pain.  Barbara felt her stomach turn, but managed to keep it down this time. The lights flickered out and the droning freezers fell quiet. Emergency lighting flickered on, after a second, bathing the room in red.

 

Barbara surged forward, lungs burning, muscles aching. They pushed through the door, over the still unconscious doorman. She threw a last look at Sionis and what was left of his victim. The big man was struggling to his feet, but was still disoriented. They powered into the loading bay, and Canary made a run at the last guard. He heard them coming and fired wildly with his submachine gun. She dodged back and forth, then threw herself into a baseball slide. She collided with his legs, sending him sprawling. Barbara was close enough, by then, to deliver a frantic palm to the side of his head. His head met the asphalt and he passed out.

 

‘Nice!’ Canary called, already back on her feet and sprinting hard for the high rise buildings across the road. ‘Almost there, hon. You can do it!’

 

******

 

She felt like her heart was about to pound right out of her chest. She tried to slow her breathing, but vomited instead. The feeling of complete hopelessness disappeared suddenly, when she felt Canary’s hand on her shoulder.

 

‘Tea, right?’ Canary had changed into street clothes. She sat nearby, cross-legged, and took a sip from her steaming paper cup.

 

‘Uhm… yeah.’ Barbara looked at the floor, noticing her discarded gloves. Her belt was by the door, as was her cape and cowl.

 

Canary offered her a second cup. It was sweet and warm, and the feeling of hot liquid in her stomach made Barbara feel instantly better. She drained the cup with slow, steady sips.

 

‘I know what you’re feeling.’ Canary said softly. ‘“I should have been faster. Or better. Or different in some way.” But you can’t get thinking that way.’

 

‘He killed him. Right in front of us.’ Barbara felt queasy just thinking about it.

 

‘Yeah. He did. Sometimes that happens. People die.’ There was a sobering hint of pain in her voice. ‘And in this line of work, we could very easily die too.’

 

Barbara knew she was right. They sat in silence for a few long minutes.

 

‘I know it’s hard. And you feel like you failed. But you survived. You fought, and you stuck to your training. Mostly.’ She shot Barbara a slight smile. Without her mask, Canary looked positively normal. She wore a loose cardigan and jeans. She had yet to bother with shoes, and wore her long blonde hair in a lazy ponytail. Non-threatening was an understatement.

 

‘I’m sorry. I broke formation. I panicked.’

 

‘Yes, you did.’ She paused, and offered a half-smile. ‘But that’s not why Hill died. Sionis did that. He’s the monster.’

 

They sat for a while longer, until Canary got to her feet, and offered Barbara a hand.

 

‘C’mon, you. I got us some clothes. We need to get you changed, and home.’ She gestured to a bundle of clothes sitting near the computers.

 

‘We?’

 

‘I’m not about to let you be alone right now.’ She smiled warmly as Barbara clambered to her feet. She got changed and stuffed her suit into a backpack.

 

‘We need to move on from this building. We’ve been here too long.’ She was already gathering up their equipment and loading it into a pair of duffel bags. ‘And besides, it smells of vomit.’

 

‘That’s not funny!’ Barbara blushed, and made a half-hearted attempt at looking offended. ‘Where are you gonna stay?’

 

‘I guess I’ll head back to Star City.’

 

‘You could crash with me.’ Barbara blurted. ‘My dad won’t mind.’

 

‘You mean, “your source?”’ A cheeky grin snuck across her face. ‘I think I’d like that.’

 

‘Barbara. My name is Barbara.’

 

‘I’m Laurel. Good to meet you.’


	13. Tim Drake

**‘Our previous attacks on Sionis have him on the defensive.** Surveillance shows a huge spike in activity around a steel-mill in the old industrial district, North Bayside. He’s gone to ground.’ Oracle tapped at the keyboard, and the on-screen map zoomed in, and rendered as a three dimensional model of the steel-mill hovering a few inches above the table.

 

‘So we chase him down, crush him for good.’ Tim was primed for vengeance, and he wasn’t about to let Nightwing and Oracle slow him down.

 

‘It’s not that simple, Tim. We need to make sure he can’t slip the net.’ Barbara pointed to the map, at a section on the north shore. ‘Your entrance is a waste water outlet. We’re running to a tight schedule. I’ll be putting in a call to the GCPD, they’ll take control of the south entrance and establish a perimeter.’

 

‘So as long as we don’t let them out on a boat, escape shouldn’t be an option.’ Dick folded his arms, a satisfied smile on his face.

 

‘Escape is definitely not an option.’ Tim gripped his bō staff. Gripping the weapon made him feel better. Safe. Prepared. ‘Do you think he’s keeping my parents there?’

 

‘Unfortunately, we can’t be sure what to expect. I don’t have blueprints on the system. And the hardcopies were apparently never filed.’ Barbara looked frustrated. Going in blind was never a good idea. But with three of them, Tim was confident they’d manage. Sionis was going to pay.

 

He stepped away from the table and busied himself in the armoury. He was loaded up on all the regular gear, but given the situation they were about to head into, an extra taser or pouch of shurikens wouldn’t go amiss. Satisfied with his load out, he strode back into the war room. Nightwing sat quietly, whilst Oracle and Canary poked at the map, highlighting a path through the city, ending at Tricorner. From there, they would glide across the bay from the top of one of the huge shipping cranes. Tim agreed; A direct approach would be dangerous.

 

‘Alright, stay alive. Good luck.’ Barbara nodded, and the three of them headed to the exit hatch. Canary slipped up the ladder first, and Tim followed. As he pushed through the hatch, he looked over his shoulder. He saw Dick looking back at Barbara. The two made eye contact, and remained silent. It only lasted a second, before Dick turned and clambered up the ladder.

 

‘Don’t say anything. We need Nightwing’s mind on the mission.’ Canary’s voice was soft, she had deactivated her comm. Before he could reply, Nightwing had opened the hatch. Tim turned to her and nodded once.

 

Nightwing led them off the building to the ground. He stopped by a nondescript roller door.

 

‘Authorise, Nightwing.’

 

‘What are we doing?’ Tim asked. There was no audible computer response to Dick’s command.

 

‘Robin, the old man left you a gift.’ He reached down, lifting the door open with ease. Three motorcycles stood waiting inside the small garage identical, except for colour; one in black, the other two in fiery red. Canary claimed a black one, whilst Nightwing approached one of the red ones like it was an old friend.

 

Dick and Canary swung their legs over their respective bikes and pumped the starters. Their engines kicked to life, purring loudly. Tim flicked the choke on his bike, and mounted up. He dropped his weight on the starter, and his engine roared. He crept forward and nodded to Nightwing and Canary. She raised a hand to her ear, tapping her comms on.

 

‘A’right boys. Let’s kick some butt.’ Canary quipped before revving her engine and speeding off.

 

Moving across town via the streets was novel. It was a good deal quicker than the rooftops, and Tim appreciated the adrenaline rush the bike gave him. They wove through traffic seamlessly and in the dark, their armour would be easily mistaken for leathers. There was no need to hide.

 

_I could get used to this._

 

******

 

They quickly identified the waste tunnel Oracle had identified as their entrance point and ditched the bikes by the shore. The water in the tunnel was a sludgy brown and the pulsing current made it hard to walk. The drainage tunnel itself was large and circular, maybe five feet in diameter. With the waist high water, combined with the need to crouch, the made slower progress than they expected. The tunnel eventually opened up into the core of the steel mill. They crouched further into the water, keeping their heads down below the edge of the tank.

 

Mooks all over pushed wheelbarrows and trolleys around the factory floor. High up on a catwalk surrounding the main chamber, snipers patrolled in pairs.

 

‘What the hell? This place hasn’t been active in decades.’ Canary whispered.

 

‘Guns up high. Gotta keep our heads down.’ Tim muttered. Nightwing and Canary nodded in approval. As soon as nobody was watching, Tim leapt out of the tank and slipped quietly to the nearby air-duct. He quickly removed the grate cover, and crouched inside. Scouting a little way up the duct, he discovered it ran for a few feet of undisturbed straight tunnel, before taking a sharp turn up the side of the chamber.

 

‘Clear.’ He hissed. He held position near the next grate, waiting for the others to join him. Canary moved first, followed by Nightwing a minute or so later.

 

They grappled up the shaft, and headed along the topmost branch, heading towards the centre of the factory. Once they were past the main factory floor, they dropped out of the vents, and into the hallway below.  The hall was long and stark and looked like it looped around the building. A dozen or so doors branched off.

 

‘This must have been offices, or something.’ Nightwing touched the side of his mask, and the filters over his eyes shifted blue. Then red. ‘Thermal is useless. There’s too much residual heat coming off the furnaces.’

 

‘They might have my-uh… the captives here.’

 

‘It’s possible. But Sionis is our priority.’ Canary was cold.  Focussed. She was right. Tim knew, deep down, that they couldn’t risk letting Sionis escape by wasting time trying to find his parents. Capturing him was important.

 

_If they’re here, I’ll find them myself._

 

The air was hot and heavy. The ancient design of the building didn’t include modern air conditioning, so the heat from the furnaces was only challenged by a handful of fans blowing through air ducts. This had the practical effect of moving the air around the halls, but didn’t really do much to cool it. Tim jogged down the hall and snuck a peak around the corner. It was deserted. Branching off the hall was a staircase, with signs indicating that it lead to the smelting furnaces. He waved Nightwing and Canary to follow.

 

‘Looks abandoned up here.’ Nightwing observed, gesturing at the nearest empty room. ‘They’re all covered in dust. Nobody has been up here in years.’

 

Canary nodded, agreeing with the assessment. They headed down the stairs. At the base of the stairs, some three floors down, the hall split off again. Canary made a series of silent gestures. She was going to head one way, Robin and Nightwing the other.

 

‘Affirmative.’ Nightwing growled.

 

Canary snuck off, drawing her bō staff with her left hand. She peaked around the first door, and then moved past it. Tim turned and followed Nightwing, taking his bō from its holster. They set into a pattern similar to Canary. Nightwing checked the first open door, nodded once, and then Tim moved past him, peaking into the next doorway. He nodded, and Nightwing leapfrogged past him. They continued on around the corner without incident.

 

‘Found a barracks. Dozen or so goons, three doors from the corner. Mattresses and all. All threats neutralised.’ Canary hissed over the comms.

 

‘Great work, Canary.’  Oracle called back.

 

Dick raised a hand, signalling Tim to stop. They were about to move into to the third door from their corner.  People are funny like that. If there was a good reason they picked that room on the other side, it was likely the same here. Tim’s left hand was already drawing a pair of shurikens from his belt when Nightwing signalled the presence of bad guys in the room. He lent away from the door and mouthed ‘ _five_ ’, holding up his empty hand, fingers spread wide.

 

Tim brandished his shurikens, Nightwing nodded, producing flash pellets from his own belt. He slipped past the door, hurling the pellets into the room. Tim moved into the doorway, crouched low, hurling his weapons at the obvious targets. As he ducked back into cover, Nightwing stepped in and let go a flurry of his own signature ‘wing-dings’, and then charged. Tim followed, promptly clobbering a mook with the haft of his staff. The man went down, and Tim was certain he wasn’t getting up soon.

 

_Might have overdone it?_

Nightwing hammered away at one man, the rest still jumping to their feet. Tim twisted his bō, letting the telescopic mechanism spring it out to its full length. In the same movement he spun, weight on one foot, bringing the staff in a bone-shattering arc. The carbon-polymer shaft contacted the mook’s shoulder, driving him back into a crumpled mess on the floor.

 

‘Had him!’ Nightwing growled. ‘Find your own!’

 

They both turned, facing opposite direction. Tim had one goon cornered, Nightwing had two. Robin sprung forward, staff spinning. The mook was dazed, still recovering from the shuriken which had split his lip. Tim spun the bō low, the man offering up almost no resistance, taking out his legs.  The man kicked back, jarring Tim’s knee. He took a step back, and the man found his feet. He swung a wild punch. Tim let it roll off him, and grabbed the man’s wrist on the follow through. He twisted his body, putting the mook behind him, and gave the arm a tug. He felt the shoulder dislocate and the man screamed in pain. He turned and swatted at him with his bō. The blow to the side of the head knocked the mook out cold. He pivoted to see Nightwing beat the remaining men down with a quick combo of brutal horizontal strikes.

 

‘Found some of our own. Five targets neutralised.’ Tim announced proudly.

 

‘Any sign of Sionis on your end?’

 

‘Negative, Canary.’ Nightwing cut in. ‘Moving on.’

 

He turned to Tim, brow furrowed.

 

‘Dial it back dude, before you seriously hurt someone. We’re not here to kill them.’

 

‘They took my parents. I’m not gonna pull punches. Not tonight.’

 

Nightwing shot him a troubled look, but didn’t argue. They slipped out of the room, continuing down the hall. Ahead, it shot off to the left, taking them further away from Canary. Before long, the hall ended at a set of doors labelled “Smelting A”.

 

‘Oracle, I’m entering the smelting chamber.’ Canary reported. Tim smiled to himself as Nightwing replied that they were heading into the other chamber.

 

The pushed the doors open, revealing a large furnace. A heavy duty conveyor belt ran nearby, covered in dust and debris. There were a few shovels and a wheelbarrow, half full of coal, nearby.

 

_Coal, but no ore, or scrap._

‘They’re not making anything. Just using the heat and noise for cover.’ Nightwing observed a moment later.

 

Tim spotted what might have been dried blood, a dark reddish-brown stain, splattered near the mouth of the furnace. Track marks in the dust suggested something, or someone, had been dragged out of the room, out the doors to their left, back towards the main chamber.

 

‘Oracle,’ Canary’s voice crackled with static, ‘No resistance in the smelting chamber. But I’ve located a hostage.’

 

‘Only one?’ Tim cut in, without thinking.

 

‘Affirmative. She’s alive, but not in a good way. Heading back to the office floor. She needs a hospital. Now. Going dark.’

 

‘Good call, Canary. Good luck.’ Oracle paused for a second before continuing. ‘Alright boys, one down. Remember, Sionis is our priority.’

 

‘Yes ma’am.’ Nightwing replied with a grin.

 

Tim smiled too. His mother was alive. That was more than he’d expected. Nightwing pushed the door open and froze.

 

‘Uh, Robin?’

 

Tim looked up, shaking away his thoughts, and followed through the door. His eyes immediately locked onto the source of the noxious smell that washed over him. His stomach turned somersaults. He fell to his knees and vomited.


	14. Dick Grayson

**He recognised the face immediately, and Tim’s reaction served merely as a terrible confirmation.** They were too late. Days too late from the look of it. The corpse on the floor had once been Jack Drake, but there wasn’t much left of Tim’s father now. He had been tortured, mutilated. Judging by the blood on the floor, it had been over at least a few days. He crouched by Robin, muttered an apology and tried not to look at the body.

 

‘Oracle. We found the other hostage. He’s gone.’

 

‘Robin?’

 

‘I’ll look after him. I think we can get out clean.’

 

‘No!’ Tim was back on his feet, fire in his eyes. ‘We can’t let that animal get away with this!’

 

‘You’re in no shape to-’Dick started, but Tim cut him off.

 

‘Don’t treat me like a child, Nightwing. I didn’t even expect them to be alive. I’d dealt with that. But Sionis isn’t going to kill any more innocent people. Not if we can stop him. We can take him down tonight.’

 

‘He’s right,’ Oracle cut in, ‘If we scrub the mission now, he’ll disappear again. Who knows if we’ll get another shot.’

 

‘Okay.’ Dick conceded, after a moment of contemplation. ‘Robin, move out.’

 

From the chamber, they followed the hallway as it cut back towards the other side of the building. The halls reconnected behind a large double door labelled “Foundry”.

 

_Full circle, no sign of Sionis._

 

‘Ladder.’ Robin was already scaling it, ascending towards a manhole which seemed to reach to the top of the building.

 

At about the same height as the office level, Robin stepped off the ladder. The younger boy waited impatiently as Dick cleared the ladder, staring expectantly. Dick nodded, ready. Tim took a run up and put his shoulder to the door. The hinges gave out, and it collapsed in loudly.

 

The office inside was large, but cluttered. Blueprints and planning documents covered every available surface; the windows were blacked out with thick, black cloth curtains.  Their conspicuous arrival caused the man in the room to jump. He had been studying one of the charts, but quickly abandoned it, grabbing up a .45 Desert Eagle and his black wooden mask. He ran for yet another ladder. He squeezed off a handful of shots, and Dick dropped back behind the doorway. Robin dove into the room, moving parallel to Sionis and out of the path of the bullets. The trapdoor above snapped shit, and Dick could hear the Armani-clad gangster laugh as he slid a heavy bolt into place, locking the hatch.

 

‘Damnit!’ Tim shouted, throwing his bō. It skittered, clanging across the room.

 

‘Keep cool, Robin. Blasting caps?’

 

‘They’ll never crack the steel.’ He looked furious.

 

‘They don’t have to. Just gotta stress it.’

 

Dick held out his hand, as Robin produced two small capsules from his belt. Dick fished a pair of his own from a pouch, and then clambered up the ladder. He pressed the capsules to the hatch, and pressed the arming switches. He dropped off the ladder and turned away. The charges went off with a series of cracks. Nightwing quickly scaled the ladder again and turned himself upside down. Hanging from the ladder with his hands, he planted his feet on the hatch and pushed. The steel groaned. Nightwing growled, and took his feet away. He slammed his boots against the hatch again. And again.

 

The steel gave way and the hatch slapped open. The night air and the sound of gunshots rushed into the office. Dick righted himself, and made his way through the manhole. The roof of the building was a huge expanse of concrete, with a single stairwell protruding at the far end. The fan units that failed to cool the building were scattered around, and he saw Huntress duck behind one, taking cover. Nearer to the hatch, Sionis leant up against one of the units, tugging at a crossbow bolt that was lodged in his thigh. He saw Dick and levelled his pistol.

 

_Gun. Go left. Break line of sight._

‘Freaks! Leave me alone!’ Sionis shouted as the Desert Eagle roared.

 

Nightwing shifted his weight to the right, and then sprung off his right foot. He twisted as he dove, landing in a tight roll behind a fan. He saw Huntress move, a flash of purple.

 

‘Oracle. We’ve got company. Huntress is here, and I think she’s gonna kill Sionis!’

 

‘I say we let her.’ Robin had cleared the hatch, but had gone the other way. They had Sionis more or less surrounded now.

 

‘No. No way!’ Dick shouted.

 

Huntress moved, and Sionis took a shot. She ducked out of the way, and Robin hammered him with a shuriken. Sionis turned to line up a shot at Robin, and Huntress moved closer again. She had a crossbow in her right hand, her left setting a bolt in the track with a fluid, practiced motion.

 

_Move, Grayson!_

 

Dick leapt forward, quickly closing the gap on Sionis. The gangster, overwhelmed by the availability of targets, hesitated. Dick lashed out, kicking the gun from his hand. Huntress levelled her crossbow, and Dick positioned himself between her and Sionis.

 

‘Jeez, we’ve gotta stop meeting like this.’ He quipped grinning through the tension.

 

‘No tasers this time, pretty-boy. Either he dies, or you do.’ She meant it. Dick could see it in her eyes.

 

‘You freaks are all crazy! Leave me out of it.’ Sionis was unable to move, but his voice was full of authority.

 

‘Shut it, scum.’ Robin had advanced, and was standing on a fan unit behind Sionis.

 

‘I’m not going to let you kill this man. He’ll go to trial, and he’ll pay for his crimes.’

 

‘Dick, move! Let her take the shot!’ Oracle cut in, agitated.

 

Dick was shocked. Barbara had always been the voice of reason

 

‘If we kill or maim, we become the monsters we fight. That’s the code I’ve lived my life by since I was a child. I’m not about to abandon that now.’

 

They were all silent, save for Sionis’ panting.

 

‘This is insane. Move. Let me put the dog down.’

 

‘You’ll have to kill me.’ Nightwing planted his feet, resolute.

 

A droning whine slowly grew in the air. Helicopters. And sirens.

 

‘Nightwing. Police are closing in. Let her end this sonovabitch. We need to leave.’ Robin was right, they didn’t have much time left.

 

‘Ugh, there’s no talking sense into you, is there.’ Huntress thrust her crossbow into its holster. Her scowl was piercing. ‘You owe me! I swear to god, if he harms another innocent person, its on you.’

 

She leapt from the roof and disappeared. The police sirens were close enough to see. A swarm of squad cars closed in, tires screeching. Dick let out a sigh of relief.

 

‘We’ve got to end him.’ Robin said, his voice grave.

 

Dick turned to see Robin standing over Sionis. The man was on his knees. He had lost a lot of blood, there was no strength left in him. Dick had never seen such a big man look so helpless. Robin had forced him towards the edge, and they were quickly running out of roof.

 

‘Didn’t you hear me? We don’t kill!’ Dick shouted frantically.

 

‘We do tonight. This man took my family from me.’

 

Dick took a step, and Sionis slipped. Everything seemed to slow. Sionis scrambled, his hands trying to find something to grip. Robin shot out a hand and caught him by the hand. He braced his feet, and managed to hold the much larger man’s weight. He stared down, his face blank.

 

‘C’mon kid, pull me up! Don’t be dumb.’

 

Dick crept closer. He could see Robin starting to shake. He couldn’t take the strain much longer. Dick knew he couldn’t do anything. He was too far away. They were at least four storeys from the ground. If Tim dropped Sionis, the gangster was a goner. Blood trickled down Tim’s arm from a bullet wound Dick hadn’t noticed.

 

‘You tortured him. You cut him and burned him to death.’ Sionis’ eyes widened as he realised he was about to die.

 

‘Tim.’ Nightwing whispered, hoping Robin’s radio was still on. ‘What about your Mom?’

 

Robin exhaled loudly through his nose. His jaw clenched.

 

'If you kill this man, who's gonna look after her?' Dick knew it was a cheap shot, but he was desperate.

 

A terrible, long minute later, Robin moved. He hauled Sionis up and dumped him unceremoniously on the concrete. He walked away slowly, dropped from the roof and grappled to the next building. He was gone.

 

‘Heh, looks like I owe you one.’ Sionis smirked. Dick kicked him. His armoured boot did a lot more damage than he’d been expecting, and Sionis fell unconscious in a pool of blood and teeth.

 

Dick turned to the stairwell, and spotted two figures, a man and a woman. The man wore a long coat, glasses and a greying moustache. The woman was younger, dark skinned, wearing a bullet proof vest over a plain business-like outfit. She had drawn her service pistol, and had it trained on him, but the older detective hand a hand on her shoulder. He was talking, but they were too far away for Dick to hear.

 

_How long were they watching?_

Nightwing decided it was better not to stick around and ask. He ran and dove off the building, into the river. He hauled himself out of the water far enough away from the factory to be out of sight of the Police. He found his bike, and started his ride back across the city.

 

‘Dick? Are you on channel?’ Oracle had been crying. He could tell without looking at her, there was something in her voice.

 

‘Yeah, Barb. Whats up?’

 

There was silence for a minute. Dick let it hang. If she was struggling to find the right words, pushing wouldn’t help.

 

‘Thank you. For not letting me destroy what we fight for.’

 

‘That’s what we’re here for. The team. We look out for each other.’ He smiled to himself. Maybe there was hope yet. ‘Saw your Dad, just now. Left Sionis with him. Glad someone decent got the collar.’

 

‘Yeah, he won’t mess it up.’ She sighed. ‘Thanks. For coming home, I mean. You are going to stay now, right?’

 

‘I just helped you crack a five year old case. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.’

 

‘Good. Wanna try that breakfast again?’

 

‘I’d like that. I’ll see you in the morning.’ He reached to turn his radio off, but paused. ‘Oh, and Barb?’

 

‘Yeah?’

 

‘Happy Birthday.’


	15. Dick Grayson

**Nightwing continued operating out of the Clock Tower.** He and Barbara were a great team, and once they got back in to the right rhythm it was like he’d never left. They didn’t see Tim for a couple of weeks. When he eventually turned up, he arrived already suited up and ready for action.

 

‘Are you sure you’re ready to jump back in?’ Barbara asked, tentatively. ‘We’d understand if you need more time.’

 

‘My Mom is in a medically induced coma in Gotham Mercy, and school doesn’t want me back for the rest of the semester.’ Tim rolled his shoulders, stretching to warm up. ‘I’m going out of my mind with boredom. And I’m tired of feeling helpless.’

 

Dick nodded his approval, and Barbara turned to face the computer bank. Robin scaled the ladder, and pushed his way out the top hatch. Dick followed. Before they moved from the building, he put a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

 

‘You know, that big house must get lonely. If you need a place to crash…’

 

‘Wow, thanks. But, uh, I’ve already got new digs lined up.’

 

‘That was fast.’ Dick wasn’t too disappointed. He knew his apartment wasn’t really enough space to house two people. It’s the thought that counts.

 

‘Yeah. Some billionaire named Wayne is taking me in. Apparently his parents were also taken by “rampant crime in Gotham”.’ He said with a smile. ‘Or something. I think he collects orphans.’

 

‘That sounds like a good offer. I don’t blame you for taking it up.’

 

‘Comes with another perk, too.’ He turned around, and Dick spotted him. The Batman stood motionless on the edge of the building. His cape blew gently in the breeze, but Dick wouldn’t have noticed him. He was too still. ‘Easy access to the cave.’

 

‘Robin.’ Batman growled. ‘Ready to go?’

 

He turned to face them, and Dick was stunned to see how much better he looked. The swelling around his eyes was gone, and he held his posture much straighter than he had in years. The break had been good, it seemed.

 

‘Good to see you back in town, boss.’ Dick smiled. ‘How was your trip?’

 

‘Good. Peaceful. Good to see you’ve come home, too.’ The faintest smile peaked out from beneath the cowl, but it might have been a trick of the light.

 

‘Alright boys, a vigilante in a purple cape was spotted breaking up a gas station hold up near the Bowery.’ Oracle’s voice was chirpy over the comms. She loved this, Dick could tell.

 

‘Huntress?’ He asked.

 

‘No idea. Could be he, could be someone new.’

 

‘Bat Watch has been buzzing since the Steel Mill. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them are trying their hand at our work.’ Tim pulled a small smartphone-like device from his belt. ‘I’ll run the IPs of the more avid posters, see if any of them live in South Point.’

 

‘Regardless, we need to stop them. We can’t have any amateurs running around my city getting hurt.’ Batman winked. ‘Nightwing, are you coming?’

 

‘Sure thing, boss!’ Dick smiled. It was good to be home. He took his grapple from his belt, Batman and Robin followed suit. ‘Alright, team. Time for some heroics.’


	16. Epilogue

**She kept her hood up, and pressed herself down against the ledge.** She hadn’t expected to see Batman and Robin this far south. Not tonight. They hadn’t seen her, she suspected, but she didn’t move for a few minutes, just to be sure. Once they were clear, she moved. The car had disappeared from sight.

 

She dug her Q-phone out of its pouch on her belt. The utility belt made her feel the part. Her black bodysuit was reinforced with kevlar plates she’d retrieved from a motorcycle jacket, and highlighted with motocross boots and gloves she’d sprayed black. An ankle-length violet cape and hood draped around her shoulders, masking her slight form. She wore her blonde hair tight in a bun, nestled up under the hood, and had a black cloth mask tied across her nose and mouth.

 

She tapped at the smartphone, pulling up the tracking application she’d written. It took a second, and then lit up a dot on the map a block or so ahead.

 

_Thank god for traffic._

 

She leapt between the buildings, and quickly spotted the car again. It pulled up outside a small apartment building. In the West Village, the 10 story building was about average. In fact, it was completely unremarkable. She watched the men disembark from the car and head inside.

 

_Gotcha._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a reviews, I'm keen to know what people think! :)


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